The Perils of Coming Home Early
by sydedalus
Summary: What if, after discovering they rather like physical intimacy with each other, House and Wilson decide to become lovers? This is the exploration of that relationship. Set after Love Hurts. AU. Mature audiences. Some PWP.
1. The Perils of Coming Home Early

**Title:** The Perils of Coming Home Early  
**Author:** Sy Dedalus  
**Pairing:** House/Wilson with House/Cameron overtones  
**Rating:** M, R, NC-17  
**Warnings:** AU. One shot. First time.  
**Spoilers:** "Love Hurts"  
**Summary:** What if Wilson was still there when House got home from his date?  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes/Credits:** First fic I've ever finished & first slash fic ever, woo. kassrachel's pre-date fic "Relief" inspired this post-date fic. I highly recommend it. Read it here: httpcolon slash slashw w w dot livejournal dot com slash users slash kassrachel slash 306107 dot html

**A/N: **That angst stuff? Yeah. It's all well and good but what I really want to do is write porn. ;)

Seriously, though, this episode was _begging_ for slash and despite the angst I can't seem to stop writing, I really do want our boys to be happy.

Please let me know if you'd like to see more overt slash like this piece, cause I'd definitely write it. :)

* * *

**The Perils of Coming Home Early**

House closed the door behind him, stiff, tired, and (dare he admit it?) not a little depressed.

"You're home early."

He started and saw Wilson come out of the kitchen drying his hands on a dishrag.

House stood in the doorway and looked at him, not sure what to make of coming home to Wilson in his kitchen, shirt sleeves rolled back like they were before he left, shirt unbuttoned and untucked now to reveal the white undershirt underneath. House noticed his feet were bare.

"You're still here?"

Wilson flashed him a boyish grin. "You got a problem with that?"

He turned and went back into the kitchen, leaving House standing there confused. He shifted his weight onto his left leg and shrugged off his jacket. His leg ached from the dress shoes he was wearing and his mind was numb. It had been a long evening. And Wilson was still here? He must have known.

"How'd it go?" Wilson called from the kitchen. House could hear him rummaging around in the cabinets like a raccoon.

"You're still here," House said, struggling with his tie, "you know how it went. You knew how it would go. Otherwise you wouldn't still—"

"—be here?" Wilson finished, coming out of the kitchen with a glass of scotch in his hand. He sat down on the couch and shrugged. "You didn't take the condoms."

"Just because I didn't want to bend her over the table and screw her raw with your souped-up rubbers, it went badly?" he said. He got his fingers tangled in the tie and tugged down angrily.

Wilson watched him. He was so sexy when he was frustrated. Wilson patted the seat next to him on the couch. "Come here."

"Why?" House said. "You gonna hold me while I cry? Cameron beat you to it in case you hadn't noticed."

"I'm going to take your tie off for you, you moron," he laughed. "Come here."

"How drunk are you?" House asked skeptically.

"Not very," Wilson said. "Probably less than you."

"What were you doing in my kitchen?"

"Do you have to know everything?" House gave him a look. "I eat too, you know. And once in a while I do the dishes." Wilson crooked his forefinger: "C'mon. Your ice is melting."

House limped over, wincing as he went. "I hate these shoes."

"Impressing the ladies hurts on occasion," Wilson said as House sat down on the opposite end of the couch and stretched his leg out on the coffee table.

"No shoes on the table," Wilson said and put his feet up too, wiggling his toes.

"You gonna get your fungal-ridden feet off my furniture or do I have to do it for you?" House said and started working on his shoes.

Wilson just smiled and handed him the drink. "Breakfast of champions. Drink up."

House gave him a funny look but took the drink, tossing his shoe across the room. He closed his eyes and took a long sip. Maybe between this drink, the wine earlier, and the two Vicodin he'd taken a few hours ago for courage, he'd be able to fall asleep tonight.

He put the drink down and leaned back with his hands behind his head, bringing his other foot up to the table and flexing it to relieve the tension.

Wilson leaned over and started working on his tie.

"Hey," House said, surprised.

"You can't get this knot out, trust me," Wilson said. His fingers worked quickly and he pulled the tie off after a moment, letting it fall to House's lap. "You're a free man now."

House grunted and untucked his shirt. "What's on tv?"

"Nothing good," he said. He looked House over: tired, tense, and a mix of seventeen kinds of sadness floating just under the surface of his carefully-controlled features. "What did she say when you told her?"

House sighed. "I don't want to talk about it. It's been a long day."

"Come here, then," Wilson said and patted the cushion in between them with his hand again.

"I _am_ here," House said. "It doesn't get more here than where I am."

"Lie down," he said and patted his lap. "Put your feet up. You look tired."

"What're you doing?" House asked stupidly.

"Something nice for you, but this offer is going to expire in about ten seconds, so come on."

House sighed and rolled his eyes, but he carefully moved his right leg over until his foot was on the armrest next to Wilson and brought his left leg over to join it, lying back with his head on the opposite armrest. He made a small noise of contentment, idly wondering what had gotten into Wilson tonight.

Wilson lifted his left foot, peeled the sock off, and started kneading House's foot, going right for the pressure points. House's eyes fell closed and he made an indistinct noise that made Wilson's dick stir in response, despite the fact that he'd masturbated earlier after House had left.

"Did she like the corsage?" Wilson asked lightly.

"She did," House said. "I took your advice about the earrings and shoes. Complimented her."

"And then she figured out something wasn't right," Wilson said, working his soft hands over the rough sole of House's foot.

"And then she figured out something wasn't right, yeah," House repeated with a sigh.

"And then you told her." Wilson hit a pressure point and House's breath hitched.

"She asked," he said.

"And then?" Wilson prompted. He didn't want or need to know but he knew House would carry it around with him, making every step he took heavier and heavier until he let finally it out. Best to stop that before it started.

"We ordered and she went to the bathroom," House said as Wilson moved down his pants leg to his calf, skillfully working the muscles. "Oh, that's good. Where did you learn that?"

"You don't wanna know," Wilson said. The proximity, breathing in the scent of House, having his flesh under his fingertips—he felt himself getting hard and tried not to sound too strangled when he spoke again. "And when she came back?"

"Two very painful hours of small talk. We talked about you, Chase, and Foreman. How she was liking New Jersey."

"All the things you hate about talking," Wilson said. "That's why you're so tense."

House grinned to himself. "It wasn't the most relaxing evening, no." Somehow this seemed very right and he didn't want to question it. "What did you do?"

"Watched the Sox and A's game. Drank a few beers."

"Sounds nice," House murmured, feeling the evening fall away, the hopes and doubts and memories Cameron had brought up dissipating until it was just him and he was comfortable and almost happy. He'd expected to come home alone tonight, take a long, hot shower, and stay up watching tv until it was time to go to work again. This was so much better.

Wilson finished massaging his left calf and withdrew his hands. He hesitated for a moment before placing a hand lightly on House's right shin, feeling the fabric of his trousers. House opened his eyes and Wilson looked at him questioningly. He saw House think it over and then nod slightly, closing his eyes again. Wilson carefully lifted his right foot and took the sock off. House stiffened and hissed. "Who won?" he asked.

"A's." Wilson replied and started working on his right foot. House moaned a little and Wilson's dick jerked in response. That sound. Oh, that sound. He tried to concentrate on something else. The baseball score. "Four to seven," he said.

"Mmm."

Wilson continued working on his foot, casting about for anything to say that would hide the helplessness he felt right now. "When was the last time you trimmed your toenails?" he asked.

House grunted.

Wilson chuckled. "Seriously, man, you're working on a world record here."

"Mmm…tomorrow's pick on the cripple day," he murmured and sighed as Wilson's hands moved down his leg to work on his calf. Below the knee, his leg was as normal as anyone else's—the muscles a little harder and more knotted maybe—but Wilson knew how hard these muscles worked every day and he slowed his pace and lengthened his strokes, digging deep into the tissue.

"Ohhh," House moaned, "_why_ haven't you shared this with me before?"

Wilson didn't answer. His heart was in his throat and his cock was straining against his underwear. He tried to control himself as he rubbed the taut muscle warm under his hands.

He waited a moment until he didn't feel so shaky about the question he wanted to ask next. It was dangerous ground to tread on. His voice was steady when it came out. "How do you feel about…how it went?"

House sighed wearily and said nothing. Wilson started to think he wasn't going to answer when he said, "It's been a long time. Too long. I'm not ready yet."

Wilson took a breath, concentrating on the feel of House's muscles. "You may never be ready," he said.

If that shocked or bothered House, he didn't show it. "No," he said softly. "I may not."

"And you're okay with that?" Wilson said.

"For now," House answered.

Wilson sighed inwardly. He hated to see House give in so easily. "You should've taken the condoms," he said. "Having them on you…makes you feel freer, more bold."

"I'm sure she uses birth control," House replied.

Wilson lessened the pressure he was putting on House's muscles. They were relaxed by now and his hands were starting to ache. The next part…did he dare?

"You said her husband died when she was what, twenty-two?" Wilson said.

"Twenty-one," House corrected.

"Maybe it's been a long time for her too."

House sighed with annoyance. "I don't need another push today," he said, shifting on the couch. "You, Cameron, Cuddy, Foreman. Enough. I can't do it again. Not right now."

"Why do you assume every relationship will end in failure?" Wilson said, lightly brushing House's skin now.

"Because I'm 0 and 11," House said.

"So you're just giving up?"

"I said I'm not ready yet, not that I wouldn't try again."

"And I know you. You say that and one day you turn around and it's been five years."

"Rub it in, why don't you," House grumbled.

"You're right. We got off-topic," Wilson said and started to slowly run his right hand past House's knee.

House's eyes snapped open and his hand flew up to stop the progress of Wilson's. Desperation gleamed in his eyes and…was that realization? "Don't—I don't—know—"

Wilson gently rested his other hand on top of House's and looked deep into his eyes. "Trust me," he said.

House stared at him for an excruciatingly long moment before he withdrew his hand. Wilson rubbed his outer thigh through his pants, right hand resting motionless against the tender skin of House's inner thigh.

With Wilson's hands on him, the warmth of his arm resting against his bare leg, his solid presence and the way he had just looked at him, House felt himself come to life. He didn't know where this was going or where he wanted it to go, but right now it felt so good; he didn't want Wilson to stop.

Then Wilson's right hand started moving very delicately along the muscle that was left, pressing down just hard enough to relieve the tension, and House moaned deeply: it was so much better than he'd imagined. How did Wilson know what to do? He was hard now and starting to squirm, breath quickening as Wilson's hand went further and further up his leg.

Wilson saw House's pants bulge and tingled with desire. House had worn regular underwear instead of boxers tonight and Wilson was nearing the hem, fingers inching forward.

"Stop," House said suddenly, eyes flying open, terror and doubt on his face as he looked at Wilson. "Do you—does this—do you want this?"

Wilson gave House the most seductive look House had ever seen and bucked his hips up to brush the tip of his erection against the back of House's knee. House's breath hitched at the contact and what it meant, but all doubt was erased when Wilson's hand moved forward to touch the soft skin where House's leg met his body. House's eyes slid closed and Wilson began toying with the pubic hairs sticking out from his underwear.

House gulped, "If I'd known you wanted to feel me up, I—oh God," Wilson pressed down a few centimeters from the base of House's penis, "you could have just said something."

"I like this way better," Wilson said, voice husky. He ran his fingers through the forest of curly hair and brushed against House's balls. House whimpered and Wilson's cock jerked, pre-cum wetting his underwear. Suddenly he couldn't stand it any longer and withdrew his hand from House's pants leg.

"Hey, what? Don't—" House said.

"I'm going to move, okay?" Wilson said, voice low and rich. "That's all."

House saw the look in his eyes and stopped protesting. He moved his left leg to the floor and started to sit up.

"No," Wilson said, his hand on House's chest gently but firmly pushing him back down. "You stay. On three I'm going to lift up and slide under. That okay?" House nodded. "One…two…three." They both lifted House's damaged leg and Wilson deftly slipped under it.

House eased it back down with a grunt. Wilson got on his knees on the couch, one knee in between House's legs, the other barely on the couch. House took in the sight of him, rumpled and wild with desire, erection straining against his pants, and went painfully hard. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a guttural moan. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this hard.

"You okay?" Wilson asked, keeping his balance with a hand on the back of the couch.

"Not if you don't come here right now," House said and grabbed Wilson's free arm, pulling him down. Wilson knelt forward and supported himself with his right knuckle. He caressed House's stubbled cheek with his left thumb and before he knew it House's hand was on the back of his neck, pulling him down, and House was reaching up to kiss him.

House moaned against his mouth and Wilson opened his lips. House did too and they found the right rhythm, kissing and nibbling and sucking, each making little noises of pleasure and desire and need.

They broke apart for air, breathing raggedly, and looked at each other. House's mouth was wet and the look on his face—Wilson had never seen anything like it. House saw how young Wilson was and how much he wanted this. Somehow House got harder, and he thought if he got any harder than this his dick would explode.

"Does this mean I get to see you naked?" House said thickly, panting.

"Oh yes," Wilson said and leaned in for another long kiss. He felt House's hands on him, moving underneath his t-shirt to explore his chest. They broke apart again and Wilson went to work on House's neck, amazed at how right stubble felt against his lips.

"James," House said playfully feeling his muscled chest, "you've been working out. You shouldn't have." He was practically purring.

"Mmm," Wilson moaned against his neck. "Shut up and take your shirt off." He said and for emphasis positioned his hips and thrust forward, rubbing his penis against House's. They both groaned.

"Do that again," House panted, "and this'll be over too soon."

Wilson kissed House hard on the mouth again. "Don't tempt me," he said and ran his tongue along House's lower lip. House kissed him back and they both went to work on the buttons of House's shirt, fingers working furiously, mouths meeting furiously. Wilson got the last button undone and pulled House's undershirt out of his pants, greedily running a hand under the shirt and over House's chest now. He wanted the shirts off, though, and grabbed a fistful of House's shirt, pulling him up a little. House got the message and pushed himself up, shrugging the blue shirt Wilson loved so much off and then pulling his undershirt over his head. He dropped them on the floor and laid back, skin sweaty against the leather couch, Wilson panting above him.

Wilson raked a loving look down House's chest and back up.

House was suddenly jealous and wanted Wilson's shirt off too. "Why do you get to—"

Wilson shut him up with another kiss. He had moved down to House's neck again and was nipping and sucking his way to House's collarbone when he felt House's hands on his belt. Wilson got harder as House unbuttoned his slacks and carefully unzipped them until they dropped to his knees. Wilson moaned against House's neck and House slid his hands up the backs of his legs and under his briefs to squeeze his butt.

"Nice ass," he muttered, arching his neck to give Wilson better access as Wilson instinctively thrust forward in House's hands.

House squeezed again before letting go and moving to the front of Wilson's underwear, moving the flap of cotton to free his erection. House touched him and Wilson's entire body jerked. He made a deep moaning sound into his neck that House wanted to hear again and again. He ran his thumb in a quick circle around the head of Wilson's penis, feeling pre-cum leak out, and Wilson shuddered then pulled away.

"No," Wilson said as he sat back on his heels out of House's reach, "not yet."

"It has to be soon," House panted out, eyes rimmed with desire as he looked at Wilson. Wilson was wearing only his underwear, penis slick and sticking out, pants pooled around his knees, and House was in awe of how much the sight did for him.

"I know," Wilson said and his hands went to House's belt, slowly and deliberately unbuttoning his slacks, meeting House's stare, and unzipped them. House's eyes rolled back into his head as Wilson pulled the underwear over his erection and his hips bucked. Wilson slid the pants and underwear down and out of the way, then sat back on his haunches and soaked in the sight of House spread out before him, half-naked, sweaty, and panting. All for him. Wilson watched House's eyes go back into focus and look at him raw and hungry, and his dick leaked more pre-cum. He looked down and saw House's dick do the same. He brought his eyes up to meet House's again and was astounded: he had never seen anyone so naked or so beautiful before.

He leaned in again and kissed him, gently and lightly this time. House opened his mouth for more but Wilson had other plans. He batted House's hand away as House tried to grab him again. "Not yet," he said into House's chest where he was kissing his way down. House groaned in frustration and Wilson reached down to squeeze his balls, then House groaned for a different reason. Wilson suddenly stopped.

"James, please, decide," House said, but Wilson was already sliding down the couch and going for House's erection. He paused in mid-air, mouth open inches above his goal and looked up, hot breath on House's cock. House looked down at him with absolute need and squirmed. Wilson wickedly licked his lips and bent down to run his tongue from the base of House's dick up to the tip. House tasted salty on his tongue. He wrapped his dexterous left hand around House's penis and began stroking him, tongue playing circles around the head. He had never done this before; he was going on what he knew he liked, and he knew he could only take so much teasing when it came to blow jobs, but doing it to House now and the sounds House was making made him want to tease and tease and tease.

House's hand was in his hair and he was trying hard not to push Wilson's head down. Wilson kept stroking him and licking him, but not going all the way. "Oh God," House groaned, "please."

Wilson stopped lapping him and looked up again, a devilish grin on his face. "Well," he said, running his hand up to the head and rubbing it hard with his thumb, "since you asked nicely," and he bent down again and took House in his mouth. House gasped and moaned as Wilson's lips closed around him, nearly coming then and there.

Wilson started sucking and licking, hand stroking what he couldn't fit in his mouth, and they figured out the rhythm, House panting and his breath hitching. Wilson reached down and started stroking himself, short and quick, in time with what he was doing to House, using pre-cum as a lubricant. House was shaking and biting his lip and trying hard not to thrust into Wilson's mouth.

Wilson sucked him languidly but deliberately for a few minutes and House thought he was going to die of pleasure when suddenly Wilson sped up and started sucking as hard as he could. House was making the same inarticulate noises Wilson recognized from his own experience of receiving blow jobs: they meant that House was very close. He sucked faster and his hands moved faster, one on House and one on himself. House grabbed a fistful of Wilson's hair and squeezed, gasping. Wilson moaned into his cock and House couldn't hold back any longer. He came harder than he'd come in a long time, a strangled cry escaping his throat. Wilson sucked him as he came, swallowing the hot, thick cum, hand still moving franticly on himself. House squeezed Wilson's hair hard, dick jerking out spurts of cum, and relaxed and let go as the last twitch came and went.

He panted and moaned in post-coital bliss. Wilson gave his dick a final swish with his tongue and let it go, unfolding his knees and leaning back until he was resting on the other arm of the couch, carefully moving his left leg until the sole of his foot was on the arm beside House's head, knee bent, making sure he wasn't putting any pressure on House's bad leg, and sliding his right leg under House's left, foot on the floor. He pulled House's left leg over until it was resting on his shoulder. He kept stroking himself, inches away from House's left thigh, and watched House come down from his orgasm. He couldn't help it: he moaned and closed his eyes and started stroking faster. He ran his right hand along House's left leg and started kissing and sucking his calf.

House opened his eyes and took in the scene before him: Wilson masturbating with abandon, eyes shut and panting, balls a few inches away from House's softening penis, going to town on his left leg.

"No, stop," House said and reached out to put his hand on Wilson's dick, scooting forward a little so that his penis touched Wilson's balls. "I want to— It's my turn."

Wilson's eyes flew open and the way House was looking at him, he nearly came, shuddering. House tried to grab him and stop him. "No," Wilson breathed, "I'm almost there. You watch and you can—ohhh—get me back later."

House stopped trying to grab his hand and met Wilson's eyes. They were thick with desire and his mouth was red and wet. They stared at each other for a moment, Wilson panting and wild, and House half-lidded, drunk, and relaxed. Then House turned his head and started kissing Wilson's leg, right hand running along it, and left hand reaching into Wilson's underwear to play with his balls. "Mmm," House said between kisses, "you're so sexy," and gently squeezed his balls. Wilson was close but he held out. It felt so good, House's hands on him, mouth on him. He wanted it to last.

House stopped kissing him and fixed a hard stare, full of desire, on him. He let Wilson's balls go and rubbed his thumb on the little patch of sensitive skin between his balls and his anus. Wilson's back arched and he came hard into the air, getting cum on himself and House. House watched his penis jerk and cum spill out until he was done and went lax against the couch. After a moment of seeing him blissful—more blissful than he'd ever seen anyone—House reached over and trailed his forefinger along the still-hot cum on Wilson's stomach. Wilson opened his eyes with the same drunk look House had given him earlier and watched as House slowly slid the finger down along the trail of cum that had gotten on his underwear to the base of Wilson's penis and then bring it to his mouth, tongue flicking out to lap the cum off. Wilson just stared, awed, unable to say anything.

They lay there for a moment, still, taking in the sight of each other. Then House laughed.

"Oh God," he said, "_why_ haven't we done that before?"

Wilson looked at him, still breathing hard, "I didn't know whether you wanted it."

"I did want it," House said.

"Good," Wilson said, closing his eyes and relaxing, "good."

"Mmm," House said, "but I think you got jizz on my couch. We're going to have to work on that."

Wilson smiled contentedly. "And Cameron?"

"What about Cameron?" House asked lazily.

"Are you going to try again?"

"Does it matter?"

Wilson opened his eyes and looked at him soberly. "No," he said truthfully. "No, it doesn't."

House leaned his head against Wilson's leg and nuzzled him, smiling. "Good," he said. He moved a little until their flaccid penises were touching and bucked forward, his dick bouncing against Wilson's. "Rematch in the morning?"

"You have a patient," Wilson said, caressing House's left thigh.

"I'm an early riser."

"Why Dr. House, was that a double entendre?" Wilson said smiling.

"Is there anything else?" House said and bucked forward again.

"I'm gonna need a rematch tonight if you don't stop that," Wilson said playfully.

House kissed his leg and sat up. "You still have those condoms, right?" He grinned wickedly.

"Don't leave home without 'em," Wilson said sitting up too, mindful of House's bad leg. He sat on the edge of the couch and let House swing his leg to the floor until they were sitting side by side.

"Good," House said, "we're gonna need them. You don't know where I've been."

"Uh, considering that you just came in my mouth, I think that's a non-issue right now," Wilson said.

"Yeah, why did you swallow?" House said. "That was gross."

Wilson shrugged, grinning. "Seemed like the thing to do at the time," he said. "You weren't complaining. And just so you know—tastes like chicken."

"Don't spoil the surprise," House said and pushed him. Wilson pushed him back and House kissed him. Wilson kissed back and then pulled away, semen getting cold on his stomach. He reached for House's undershirt, which had ended up on the coffee table, and wiped himself off. He passed the shirt to House.

House surveyed the two of them and the area around the couch. "I haven't done anything this messy since high school," he said.

"I haven't done anything this kinky since high school," Wilson said.

"What, none of your wives wanted to watch you masturbate?" House said playfully.

"It never came up, no," Wilson said laughing.

"Their loss," House said and kissed him quickly, looking him over.

Sweat was drying in Wilson's hair and it was sticking out in odd places. Wilson's genitals were still hanging out of his briefs and his pants were around his ankles, but he still had his shirt and a very wrinkled, semen-stained undershirt on. House's underwear and pants were around his ankles too and he didn't have to look at his neck and shoulder to know that he had little red bite marks running down his right side.

Wilson laughed at the way they looked and tucked himself back into his briefs, kicking his pants off. He stood up and stretched, shirttail falling around him. "I don't know about you," he said, "but I need a shower."

"Damn straight," House said and stared at Wilson's chest. "Next time you don't get to keep your shirt. In fact, take your shirt off right now."

Wilson shrugged. "You're the evil genius," he said and took off his shirt.

"Both of them," House said, sitting back. "And dance while you do it. We'll come up with your stripper name later."

"And walk around in my underwear?" Wilson said feigning shock. "What will the neighbors think?"

"They'll think I've got the best piece of ass in the state," House said. "And they'll be half-right. _You've _got the best piece of ass in the state." Wilson grinned at House's familiar egotism and started swinging his hips, doing a very bad striptease and finishing by throwing his shirt at House.

"Never dance again," House said laughing. "I hope you don't fuck like you dance."

"One more comment like that and you may never find out," Wilson said and picked up House's cane, half-dancing back across the room.

"That's an abomination," House said, sliding forward. He took the cane, planted his left foot, and stood. He took a tentative step forward without it and smiled to himself, resting it against the couch. "I don't know if it was the massage or the blow job, but it's feeling pretty good tonight," he said looking down at his leg. It was never a sight he wanted to see but right now it didn't bother him so much.

"Probably the blow job," Wilson said. "Repeat as necessary."

"Your lips would fall off," House teased.

"That sounds like a challenge," Wilson said, eyes gleaming.

"Shower first," House said and limped toward the bathroom. After a few steps, he turned and didn't see Wilson following. "Coming?"

Wilson had his arms crossed over his chest and he looked amused. "Just admiring the view," he said.

"Did you just hit on me?" House said, feigning shock.

"You're awfully slow tonight," Wilson said. He walked over and slapped House on the ass. "_That's_ hitting on you."

House squared on him. "No," he said putting a hand on Wilson's shoulder for support and leaning in, "that's a lawsuit. _This_," he grabbed Wilson's crotch and squeezed, "is hitting on you."

Wilson gasped and his eyes slid shut. "House," he said, voice breaking, "Shower. Now."

House squeezed again and let go. "Whatever you say." He limped toward the bathroom again. Wilson shuddered and followed him.

They managed to shower without incident, soaping each other and enjoying the warm water, both relaxed and sated. They took turns admiring each other and exchanging playful and meaningful glances with raised eyebrows, finally kissing long and slow until the water started getting cold. House turned the shower off while Wilson got out and found two towels.

They dried off and stood close to each other in the steamy room. House draped his arms over Wilson's shoulders and gave him a look that Wilson couldn't read.

"I want to kiss you," House said, "but if I do that, it might lead to other things and I'm sad to say that I'm done for the night."

Wilson nodded and leaned in closer, his arms going under House's to rest on his back. "You want to know a secret?" he said, eyes gleaming. House raised his eyebrows. Wilson kissed him once, quickly, and pulled back, impish grin on his face. "I jerked off in here earlier. I'm done for the night too."

House grinned. "Naughty boy," he said and kissed him. "Do you have any idea how hot that is?"

"Some idea, yes," Wilson said kissing back. He pulled away after a while. "Come on," he said, "bed time."

"Do I have to?" House asked with a whine.

"Patient," Wilson said. "And the sooner you sleep, the sooner you wake up."

"Well," House said wickedly, "If you put it that way." He let Wilson go and limped into the bedroom.

Wilson followed. "Can I borrow some boxers?" he asked.

House gave him a funny look. "You don't sleep naked?" he said.

"Not after the first date," Wilson said smiling. "First fuck—that's negotiable."

House shrugged. "Second drawer from the top," he said.

Wilson rummaged through House's underwear drawer and pulled out a pair of black silk boxers. House watched him step into them and pull them up. "That's my favorite pair," he said.

"Then you won't tear them off tomorrow morning," Wilson said.

"You don't have to wear them, you know," House said.

"Maybe I want to."

"If you keep saying things like that, we're never going to get any sleep," House said. "It's almost one."

"Don't care," Wilson said and kissed him again. He pulled back before it could get deep. "Go to bed," he said and turned toward the door. "I'll be right back."

House gave him a questioning look but limped over and slid under the covers all the same. "Hurry up," he called, "the sheets are cold."

"Coming," he heard Wilson say from far away. He leaned back against the pillow, hands behind his head. He hadn't felt so good in a long time. The date with Cameron, the way he felt about it and her, the past it dredged up, all the things that had gone so wrong—he pushed them away and focused on the image of Wilson in his black boxers instead. What did tonight mean? He didn't know and he was too relaxed and comfortable to think about it.

Wilson came back with two glasses of water and House's pills. House sat up and immediately felt a mixture of love and shame. He knew how Wilson felt about them and yet here he was serving them up on a silver platter. What did that mean?

Wilson put one of the glasses down on his side of the bed and climbed in, handing the other glass and the bottle to House. House took a drink of water and set it aside, then regarded the bottle in his hand. Wilson had slipped under the covers and was lying on his side, head propped up with his hand, watching House.

House looked from the bottle to Wilson and then back. "I took two earlier," he confessed with a slight tinge of remorse in his voice.

"I know," Wilson said.

House's eyes darted at him. How did he…? He shook the bottle in his hand and heard the pills rattle. It was almost empty. He would need Wilson to write for him again. They both knew it was earlier than it should be for a refill.

"Why?" House said, voice wavering.

Wilson took his free hand and kissed it lightly, then ran his thumb in small circles over it. "I don't like it," he said. "You know that. And I wish you'd cut back. You know that too." He sighed and looked down. "But I also know that you need them. Maybe not as much as you take," he blew out an unsteady laugh before getting serious again, "but…I know it hurts." He kissed House's hand again quickly and let it go. It upset him more than he wanted to let on. He lay down and closed his eyes, giving House the space he needed to do what he needed to do.

He heard the bottle rattle and House sigh and then a thunk as House put the bottle on the nightstand. Wilson opened his eyes to see House looking down at him. "I don't need one yet," he said softly, sliding down until he was on his back, head turned to Wilson, "so I won't take one yet."

Wilson nodded slightly and looked down again. House snapped off the light and Wilson heard the sheets rustle as he lay back down. He didn't know what to expect now and he didn't reach out yet to touch House even though he wanted to so badly.

Bringing up House's addiction might have been the wrong thing to do and it might have been the right thing to do—that was arguable—but he knew that House would only push him away if he tried to touch him first now. He contented himself with feeling close to House instead, the heat radiating from House's body making him warm under the sheets, the feel of House's silk boxers on his skin.

He was a little surprised, then, when he felt House's rough right hand on his shoulder urging him closer and House's other arm slip under him to draw him in. Wilson eagerly curled up next to him, head resting in the crook of House's left shoulder, and wrapped his leg gently around House's undamaged leg. He heard House gasp a little at the unexpected weight but then he felt House rub his arm gently and squeeze him close.

Wilson draped his left arm across House's chest, sighed happily, and fell asleep. Whatever remained unsettled between them could wait until tomorrow.

THE END

* * *

...or is it?There's always the morning after. Review and let me know if you'd like it to continue. :) 


	2. Dream and Memory

**Title:** The Perils of Coming Home Early  
**Author:** Sy Dedalus  
**Pairing:** House/Wilson  
**Rating:** M for explicit sexual content  
**Warnings:** AU  
**Spoilers:** none  
**Summary:** What if, after discovering they rather like physical intimacy with each other, House and Wilson choose to live that way? Some PWP.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**A/N:** So…I've thought about continuing this fic since I first wrote it. What I'd like to do is explore the reality of two men whose friendship turns into a sexual relationship – maybe more. I'll try to get as close as I can get to that reality, since I'm female and heterosexual. There will be lots and lots of sex in this fic, though I'm not the best at writing explicit sex scenes. I expect some angst to show up and some humor too. It's not PWP per se, but it's not got a plot except that of exploring this relationship. This fic began after the episode "Love Hurts" and I may take it up through the rest of the season 1 episodes—maybe further. Seems like establishing a new relationship just before House's dear old ex turns up might be fun to play around with. I don't know how genre-specific this will be or if I'll even finish it, though I'd like to take it to some natural conclusion (but I've not got the best track record for finishing long fics ;) ).

**CONTENT WARNING:** **This fic is rated M for a reason. This chapter contains explicit sexual content and explicit language.** I expect most future chapters to contain the same thing. If you are underage or bothered by explicit sexual content, please don't read this fic.

Another note: there's a reference in here about unprotected anal sex. **I absolutely do not advocate unprotected sex of any kind** and I doubt these fictional characters would either. But keep in mind that this is fiction and that even if it tries to mimic reality, reality is always much more dangerous. Be safe!

* * *

**Chapter 2: Dream and Memory**

House shoved into him, harder than Wilson had ever imagined anyone could fuck anyone else, nailing his prostate, and the funny electrical charge that was an orgasm exploded whole-body on him, making him feel like every bone and muscle he had was going to burst out of his skin. It was so unimaginably good to feel this way, and he would've sprayed semen everywhere before House could push in again, a primitive, guttural howl leaping out of his throat, if he hadn't been dreaming. Because in every dream he'd ever had where he was being fucked by another man, he never came.

He came sometimes in dreams where he was fucking women or even fucking a man, but never when he was being fucked, no matter who it was fucking him. Those dreams almost always produced the most needy morning erection and if he was in bed with a wife or girlfriend and she was willing, those dreams created some of the most intense and satisfying ten minute fucks of his life.

But in this dream where he was being fucked hard by House, his whole body became a receptacle of pleasure and all he could do was ride it out. Sometimes the dream lasted long enough for House to fuck him thoroughly, whispering dirty nothings into his ear until his own primeval orgasmic yell was ripped from his throat, then collapse against him, panting, sweating, his weight so right, so perfect, catch his breath and make a crack, "Jimmy-cum-lately?" But in this dream all he was able to do was exist in the warm cosmic bath, utterly fulfilled.

And sometimes he would become aware that he wasn't erect anymore and that streaks of cold semen that was undoubtedly his had spread out on a bed or a floor or a desk or whatever surface House had been fucking him against, but he never remembered coming. On those nights, he would wake up to that reality and his cheeks would automatically redden whether she was awake or not: married men shouldn't have wet dreams.

But tonight, in this dream, he was still standing—writhing, crawling, feeling like death was upon him, death that felt so good—in the between-time that straddled the first hard touch of his prostate and the second. The set up had been one of the three or four scenarios that were House-specific: this time it had been the clinic set up.

For reasons that made sense only in dreams, he found himself in an exam room, pants around his ankles, with a demanding erection he was trying his best to conceal against the table, waiting for House to enter and conclude the yearly physical with a prostate exam. He was always embarrassed, not wanting House to know he was so turned on before the other man's fingers were anywhere near his anal cavity, and always afraid that he would come before the exam had even begun from the sheer eroticism of it. In this dream scenario, he always had the control of a fourteen year old: ready to come at the mere thought of physical contact. And when House did enter the room, it was to tell him he was a naughty boy and before he could turn around to stammer an apology, House would pin him against the table. There was no moment of recognition. None was needed in the fantasy of this dream. But the reality of having another man's penis in his ass always drug out: first House used one finger, then another, going slowly but with determination, and once the little rips of pain had passed, the moment arrived, that first hard shove against his prostate.

And now the second shove came. The cold, hard surfaces of the clinic room became soft and firm: House never fucked him against metal. In this species of dream, House was never missing thigh muscle either. Both of his legs were strong and except for the little rip of anal flesh at the beginning, no pain existed except the exquisite pain of being fucked. In other dreams, when Wilson was doing the fucking, reality did exist and he had to accommodate the disability. In still other dreams when he was fucking, House was whole. And in others, dreams that were closer to nightmares, he would fuck House even if he knew he was hurting the other man. Those were angry dreams and the more pain House acknowledged, the harder he would fuck. Thankfully, that dream was rare.

And this one now, this was one of his favorites.

The dream sped up, they had worked out a rhythm, and all he could do was moan and enjoy it until it was over.

House smiled faintly, his head propped up on his left elbow, a pillow between his knees enabling the position, watching the frantic back-and-forth of Wilson's eyeballs under his lids and the little twitches his lips made as he dreamed in the moonlight. House's gaze drifted down Wilson's naked upper body it met sheets and a comforter, then paused on the slight bulge. Whatever he was dreaming about, he was very happy. Probably Debbie from accounting. But House wasn't jealous.

He had been slightly disoriented when he'd first woken up to find his best friend sleeping next to him. Then the night before came back to him and he felt such a mix of emotions that he didn't know where to begin, though a few quick and easy strokes over his morning erection seemed like a great idea. He opted for his wake-up Vicodin dose instead.

Then he'd lain quietly on his back recalling the feel of Wilson's lips on his own lips, a hand reaching up to feel the bite marks Wilson had left on his right shoulder, and the feel of Wilson's lips on his erect penis and the wonderful if slightly inept blow job he'd received. Then he recalled watching Wilson bring himself off, the way his face looked at his came. And then it was only the pain from his leg that kept him from giving in to the need of his erection. The pull in his abdomen and penis and testicles and the demand that he reach down and touch was almost too much. Hands behind his head to keep himself from straying, he'd had to fight not to buck his hips against the sheet as the dose kicked in and began to quiet the pain. Any resistance would have felt so good.

He'd been ready to reach over and wake Wilson up to demand he do something about this intolerable erection when he noticed Wilson's face twitching and heard a soft moan come from him. House had envied the dream for a long moment. Then he'd decided to turn on his side and watch. He'd had to move his own pillow between his knees—Wilson was sleeping on his extra pillow—and that had been just painful enough to distract him from his insistent third leg.

But now that he'd been watching for a few minutes, the pain had died down again, and morning need had taken over. He couldn't stand to wait any longer.

He reached over and put his hand on Wilson's chest, very lightly. His flesh was so warm and alive. House could feel his ribcage expand as he breathed in. The moment was ridiculously beautiful. He'd done this with Stacy, too, early in their relationship when he woke up first. He'd watch her sleep, then put a cautious hand on midsection to make sure she was real. Sometimes she would wake up and purr and they'd have great sex. Sometimes she'd roll over and go back to sleep. But every time he had her permission to watch her and touch her and kiss her and fuck her. Right now he wasn't sure if Wilson would let him do any of that. Last night could have been a fluke, after all. Wilson might have been much drunker than he'd admitted to being. House might have dreamed the whole thing, though how Wilson had gotten into his bed if he'd dreamed it, he didn't know.

And he didn't know now whether this was a good idea or not. But his flesh said yes, this is the best idea you've ever had. So he reached over, stretching his upper body, and kissed the indention between two of Wilson's ribs.

That felt good. But he wanted more.

He opened his mouth to gently lick and suck the skin.

Wilson still slept.

So he scooted his legs over until they were almost touching Wilson's left leg and he hadn't meant to, but God, his erection was digging against Wilson's hip now. It was maddening. Holding himself up precariously with his left elbow, he gently tongued Wilson's left nipple, tasting and smelling the other man's scent mingled with the soap from last night's shower and just a little tang of salty sweat. He closed his lips around the hard bead of flesh and sucked.

Wilson moaned suddenly and House jerked away. He hadn't meant—

He held still for a moment, waiting for Wilson to wake up and demand an explanation.

Nothing.

Carefully inching back until his body wasn't touching Wilson's any longer, he whispered,

"Hey! Wilson!"

Wilson's lips curved upward into a smile but he was still asleep. House groaned to himself. If Wilson didn't wake up soon, he'd be forced to give his right hand some action. This was torture of the worst order.

"Wilson," he said, this time just below normal volume. "Hey. Wake up." He nudged Wilson in the ribs, just a little.

Wilson started, snorting in a breath. "Julie?" he asked. "What's going on?"

House waited, grinning, for Wilson to realize that the smell, the bed, and the person next to him were all wrong.

Then, there it was.

"House?" Wilson whispered. "Is that you?"

"The one and only," House answered.

"What's going— ohhhh."

"Yeah," House said, "ohhhh."

"Did we really…?"

"Yep."

"Turn on the light," Wilson said, "I want to see you."

"I like it this way," House said. He reached forward, putting a hand on Wilson's chest. Wilson hitched in a sudden breath: he hadn't expected that. His eyes hadn't adjusted to the faint moonlight yet.

House scooted forward again until his erection was touching Wilson's hip. His hand ran down the right side of Wilson's body to his other hip, chastely flowing over the silk boxers Wilson had borrowed instead of dipping into the warm flesh they protected.

"Do we need to talk about this or can I get rid of my morning visitor before he kills me?" House asked.

Wilson was silent for a moment.

"I was dreaming about you," he said. "You were fucking me so hard I could hardly stand it."

House couldn't help himself: he moaned. "Is that a yes?"

Wilson flipped on his side in one quick motion. "Yeah, it is," he said, and reached out with his left hand until he felt flesh and stubble, then used it to guide his mouth to House's, missing and kissing first his cheek, then centering himself and lips met lips.

"Mmm," House said against his mouth, "you need to brush your teeth."

"So do you," Wilson returned, tongue reaching in to find House's, then pulling back a little to suck on his lower lip. "And you really need to shave."

"Shut up," House said into his mouth.

He lingered for a while, kissing and nipping and sucking, despite Wilson's foul morning breath, then he moved down to nibble and suck on Wilson's neck. He felt Wilson's left hand on him, reaching down his back to squeeze his ass, and he did the same, pulling Wilson to him, shoving his dick against Wilson's abdomen as he felt Wilson's dick shove against his balls. He moaned and pushed again, it felt so good.

"Don't leave a hickey," Wilson said into his hair.

House didn't have enough blood in his head to argue. He moved over to Wilson's shoulder instead.

House did everything he could do with his mouth to Wilson's shoulder, moaning when he felt Wilson squeeze his butt cheek and push against him, the heat of flesh on flesh almost too good.

"I really, really want to fuck you," House said after a while into the skin of Wilson's shoulder, thrusting against his abdomen with each word. He felt Wilson's throat vibrate as he moaned.

"I want to fuck you too," Wilson said, eyes closed, mouth open as House ate his shoulder up. How wonderful this felt.

Slowly, a thought came into his head.

"Wait, House, stop, stop," he said, but he didn't make any move to stop him.

"Why?" House murmured into his shoulder, not even thinking about stopping.

"Just stop a second," Wilson said breathlessly. "Turn on the light."

"Can't reach it on my side," House said into Wilson's shoulder.

Wilson moaned when House reached through his legs to brush his testicles.

"Is there a lamp on this side of the bed?" he asked when he could speak again.

"No."

God, House was about to do that again.

"House, stop!" Wilson demanded, pulling away from him.

House did, very annoyed at the forced separation. He let his head drop against the mattress in frustration, then reached out again to explore Wilson's back.

"I'm gonna reach over you and turn it on, okay?" Wilson said.

"Why do you want the light on?" House asked plaintively, running his hand around the small of Wilson's back and then down again to squeeze his ass.

"Because I want to see your face when I ask you this question," Wilson said.

That made House stop. More anticipation? He couldn't do this when morning wood was concerned.

He groaned as Wilson leaned over him.

"I can't take much more of this," he said.

Wilson found the switch and squinted into the light. House was on his side with no pillow for his head: he looked ridiculous, head tilted sideways.

Wilson sat back on his haunches as House propped his head up with an arm again.

House's eyebrows went up in a leer. "That's my boy," he said to Wilson's penis, which was sticking out of the open fly of House's black silk boxers. "Take those off now," he instructed.

Wilson did, quickly, and tossed them to the floor.

"That's much better," House said and admired the view for a moment. Then he looked up. "Why did we have to stop?" he asked.

"Because I need to know: have you ever slept with another man?" Wilson asked seriously.

"Jealous already?" House responded.

"No," Wilson said. "I don't care about your sexual history. But I need to know. Have you ever slept with another man?"

"Have you?" House asked.

"No," Wilson said. "I kissed a guy in college and dry humped another guy once, but that was it. You?"

"Yeah," House said, rubbing his eyes in the light. "Once. We were both drunk and he was asking guys to fuck him because he wanted to know what it felt like. I said I would."

"Did you use a condom?"

"Of course," House said. "I wasn't that drunk."

"Did he fuck you back?"

"No," House said.

"So you've never been fucked by a guy?" Wilson asked.

"No," House said.

"Me neither."

Wilson watched him for a moment before another question came to mind.

"Did Stacy ever…?"

House rolled his eyes, having finally figured out what Wilson was driving at.

"Are you asking if I'm an anal sex virgin?" House said.

"Yes," Wilson answered.

"I am," House responded. "You?"

"Yeah," Wilson said. "My first wife liked to finger me but that was it."

"Well…" House began, eyes raking Wilson up and down, "…where are those condoms you had last night?"

His eyes met Wilson's.

"I'm willing," he said. "I already walk unevenly. No one would notice."

"They're in my pants," Wilson said. "Wherever my pants are. But when I fuck you, I want to feel it."

House watched him speak those words. They went straight to his groin.

"Okay," he said in a slightly strangled voice, "we'll get tested today. If we're both clean…" he searched Wilson's eyes and his voice nearly broke, "tonight."

"Agreed," Wilson said. "But only if we're monogamous."

House tsked. "All the other boys will be so disappointed," he said.

He reached toward Wilson. "Now come here. I'll show you one thing I have done with a guy before. But turn the light off first. I'll have plenty of time to ogle you in the daylight."

Wilson grinned sloppily and complied. "Where do you want me?" he asked, voice coming through the darkness.

This was nice, House thought. He couldn't see: his hands and fingers and mouth would have to do this seeing for him.

"Lie down next to me on your right side," he instructed.

Wilson obeyed, spooning up to him. "Let me know if I move the wrong way," he said.

House answered by pulling Wilson to him, his penis nestling comfortably against Wilson's ass and balls.

"Stay still," he said.

He began by kissing the back of Wilson's neck, then moving out to kiss his shoulder, his right hand wandering freely over Wilson's chest. His hand ran down Wilson's stomach over the slight paunch there, then teased around his pubic hair. He felt Wilson pushing against him, providing enough movement and resistance to make him gasp as he wrapped his fingers around Wilson's erect penis and ran slowly upward.

"Tell me what you like," House said.

House took the grunt mingled in with the little shuddering gasps Wilson was making as an acknowledgement. He fooled around briefly, dipping down to rub Wilson's balls and back up to tease him again, then began stroking him with a long, not too slow, not too quick rhythm. Wilson's shuddering began to intensify and House quickened his pace accordingly, unable to stop himself from grinding against Wilson's butt and thighs.

Wilson was gone, House could tell, and his strokes became frantic, wrist-aching, timed to match Wilson's sexual gasps and pants, and then he felt Wilson stiffen and stop breathing just before he moaned loudly and his penis began to jerk in House's hand. House stroked him hard, once, twice, three times as semen flowed out, then he felt the post-coital collapse, all of Wilson's weight helplessly deposited against him and the mattress.

His harsh breaths slowing in the night air, the heat of his body on House's, the lightning pace Wilson had asked for: House soaked all of it up. He hadn't felt this way in a long time.

With great effort, Wilson rolled onto his stomach to avoid hurting House and turned his head toward the other man, though his eyes were closed for the first blissful seconds of afterglow.

"Oh my God," he groaned, panting slowly, "I want to do that every morning for the rest of my life."

House smiled broadly, genuinely, at Wilson's lax face reflected just barely in the moonlight, the way he spoke into the mattress, and the light sweat that had just begun to break on his forehead that House felt more than saw, and as the atmosphere hummed around him, he grasped himself firmly in the hand that had just gotten Wilson off so well and began jerking as fast as he could.

Now he made the noises he'd just heard Wilson make, panting and moaning because it was so good, his eyes closed. After waiting so long, his hand felt electric as he finally gratified himself, the smell of Wilson's sweat and semen filling his nostrils, it was so good, he couldn't stop now, his wrist hurt, his penis ached with the need to come and he rubbed somehow faster, hand and dick flying together, and he felt it coming and _there_, he yelped unconsciously as orgasm ripped through him, his seed propelled out in wonderful spurts, gasping till the end and then it was over and it was his turn to collapse bonelessly. He felt no pain as he slumped forward, panting, reveling in the feeling of absolute bliss.

"Wow," he heard Wilson say. "That was amazing."

He didn't have to open his eyes to know the younger man was studying him. Hell, he'd just come all over the man in all probability.

"Now I know…why you couldn't wait…last night," House panted. He groaned heavily with satisfaction. "OhmyGodthatwasgood."

"Mmm," Wilson said, reaching blindly for House's chest, "it was." He draped a hand across the ridge of House's side. "Gonna have to do that again when I can see you, though. Don't know about you but cum shots really do it for me."

"Giving or receiving?" House asked languidly.

"Felt good to receive one just now," Wilson said. "Wish I could've seen it."

"Patience," House replied.

They lay quietly together for a length of time neither could have determined.

After a while, Wilson groaned into the mattress. "Don't wanna get up. Don't wanna go to work."

House smiled: Wilson sounded like a petulant toddler. "It's not even four yet," he said. "You've got at least an hour."

"Good," Wilson said to the mattress.

Time passed and Wilson was almost asleep again when his hand slipped off of House's side and he felt House turning onto his back. Oh. Right.

He reached down to retrieve the pillow that had been supporting House's leg and got a fistful of cold semen.

"Eww," he said. "Think you got spooge on the pillow."

House grunted and Wilson felt him moving his leg. He ignored the wet spot and pulled the pillow free, putting it on House's chest.

"Wonder how gay guys avoid the mess," Wilson said reflectively.

"Shut up," House mumbled, reaching toward him, "and come here."

Wilson got the message and slid over on his stomach, draping his arm across House's chest.

House laid his hand on top of Wilson's and closed his eyes, totally relaxed. Pain from moving his leg around dulled and the heavy, close feeling of Wilson next to him increased the relaxation until, amazingly, he fell asleep again, the sound of Wilson's deep sleep-breathing the last thing to fade.


	3. A New Day

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

Thanks very much for the reviews!

* * *

**Chapter 3: A New Day**

_House,_

_Can't believe you're still asleep. _

_I'm going by the house to pick up some clothes. I'll tell Julie tomorrow. _

The last sentence was scratched out and _We'll talk later. _was written next to it.

_Come see me when you can get away. I'll arrange the tests. (Need a Vic. refill?—let me know)_

_Why do I miss you already? (Can't wait to hear your cutting response to that.) One more thing I shouldn't write down, I should just say it to you but this is easier, and you'll rip on me mercilessly for saying it, but it's true._

_I love you._

_(No, I'm not crying, shut up.)_

_-James_

Standing naked in his kitchen, caneless, House smiled.

* * *

Dressed in the blue shirt Wilson had complimented him on once years ago, House fairly strolled into the hospital. It was a new day. A new life. Nothing could touch him, not leg pain, not clinic patients, not Cuddy—

—okay, Cuddy could, he thought as he tried to be somewhere else. But she was bearing down on him, damn. What had he done? He'd only just walked in the door. He wasn't even late!

And she was…smiling?

"So," she said, falling into step with him, "how did it go?"

"It was great," House said nonchalantly, "best sex of my life."

Cuddy stopped. "You have no idea what I'm talking about," she said.

"Mystery positively exudes from your pores," House said, still walking toward the elevator.

Cuddy cocked her head before catching up with him.

"You look nice," she said. "You even smell nice."

With a hand on his arm, she stopped him.

"House," she said in an abhorred but clearly approving, even happy tone, "what happened last night?"

"Are you deaf?" House said, "or does hearing me say it turn you on?" He leaned closer, delighting in her reaction, "Best sex of my life."

"With Cameron?" Cuddy asked, at once appalled at his indiscretion and, well, proud of him for having a normal human relationship, if only for one night.

"Cameron?" House echoed, momentarily confused. "Oh no."

He turned toward the elevators again.

"_Wilson_ and I are sleeping together," he said over his shoulder.

The elevator arrived just before he pushed the 'up' button and he stepped on. The look on Cuddy's face when he turned around was priceless. She could not have been more shocked and disbelieving.

He grinned to himself. This was almost as good as the fact of sleeping with Wilson. The elevator doors closed. Wait, no. Sleeping with Wilson was much better. Yes, that was right. He hadn't even thought until now how everyone would react.

His grinned broadened. This would be a more interesting day than he'd thought.

* * *

"Hello, _James_," House said, letting himself in to Wilson's office.

Wilson blushed. "You got my note," he said, standing and coming out from behind his desk.

House could hear a faint nervousness in his voice, but he was too busy closing the blinds to care.

Wilson watched him curiously, wondering what he had up his sleeve.

"I did," House said, locking the door. He turned to face his new lover.

"You look nice," he said suddenly, not expecting himself to say that.

Wilson didn't expect it either. He looked at House with confusion, not sure if that was a compliment or a cut down.

House approached him before he could make up his mind.

"And after that note, I so own you now," House said with a broad yet seductive smile.

He stepped up to Wilson and leaned in to kiss him, dropping his cane. Wilson leaned in too, kissing back hungrily.

"You smell good," Wilson said into his mouth.

"That's what Cuddy said," House answered between nips and pulls on Wilson's lips.

"You told Cuddy?" Wilson asked, only half-believing, too interested in kissing at the moment.

"She didn't believe me," House responded, moaning a little into Wilson's mouth. How had Wilson learned what he liked so quickly?

They stopped to catch their breath, foreheads together, watching each other.

"You ready to do the tests?" House asked, searching Wilson's eyes for any sign of reticence.

"I have an appointment in ten minutes," Wilson said, trailing his left thumb through the scruff on House's cheek. "I'm free in about forty-five minutes. You?"

"Waiting for the report from the surgeon," House said. "I don't know if I'll be free. Page me?"

"Sure," Wilson said. How electric blue his eyes were; Wilson had never really appreciated their color until this moment.

House was still holding on to him. Did he want more kissing or— he saw House's eyes flit to the floor and back. Oh. That.

"Sorry," Wilson said. He checked House's balance. "You good?"

"Make it quick," House said.

Wilson did, dipping to retrieve the cane. House took it gratefully and leaned against it, but when Wilson was upright again, House's left hand was back on him.

Affection? Wilson smiled and shook his head. He'd never seen House like this. But now he understood why Stacy put up with him.

"What are you smiling about, _James_?" House asked, tagging the dig on the end.

"I was just thinking I've never seen you so affectionate but then you go and ruin it by opening your mouth," Wilson said.

"You're just noticing this pattern _now_?" House teased.

"Shouldn't have said anything, should I," Wilson said, rolling his eyes, the muscles in his face starting to strain from smiling so much.

"And deprive me of the opportunity to torment you?" House asked. "Shame."

Wilson twisted his body around to glance at the clock on his desk.

"We still have a few minutes," he said. "Can we…talk about a few things?"

"It's pre-nup time already?" House said.

Wilson studied him. "I do a lot of guessing with you," he said. "That's what makes you fun. But sometimes I guess wrong and…I don't want to hurt you."

House scrutinized Wilson as Wilson had been scrutinizing him. He was serious. Okay. House was serious too. He wanted to get this right.

"Okay," House said. "Talk away."

"Let's sit down," Wilson said, indicating to his couch.

House's face clouded over briefly, but he followed when Wilson led.

The sat next to each other, bodies touching. House twirled his cane between the palms of his hands, sitting forward, feeling Wilson's eyes on him. He thought for a moment.

"Okay," House said. "I'll go first." He looked over at Wilson. "When you said 'let's sit down,' did you say that because you wanted to sit down or because you wanted me to sit down?"

Wilson's expression became slightly contrite. "Both," he said.

"Then this is something we need to talk about," House said.

"Yeah," Wilson agreed.

House took a deep breath. "You know I'm touchy about it," he said. "Sometimes you go too far, but you're pretty good about knowing when to shut up. But if this progresses, you're going to start acting differently and—" he broke off, not knowing what to say. He took another deep breath.

Wisely, Wilson waited for him to finish.

"Stacy treated me like I was Faberge egg. I hated it."

"I know," Wilson said. "I was there. You told me how much you hated it."

"Just reminding you," House said with a small smile.

"Well," Wilson began, sitting forward, his hand finding a home on House's left knee, "part of the problem is that you push yourself, sometimes too hard. Sometimes I have to say something even though I know you'll hate me for it. You're tough. I know that. But seeing you in pain hurts me."

"Okay," House said. "At least we're clear on what each other's positions are so we'll know what we're fighting about later."

"I don't want to fight with you," Wilson said quietly.

"You know it's going to happen sooner or later," House said. "I'm an asshole. I pick fights."

"I know," Wilson said, smiling a little. "It can get tedious, but it's one of the things I like most about you."

"That's another thing," House said. "When I've been in relationships in the past, I'm great about being complimentary and showing affection and all of that in the beginning—you noticed it earlier—but you know how I get. I close off. I'm not good at having emotions, much less showing them."

"I know that, too," Wilson said. "I also know that I don't have the best record for maintaining long-term relationships. And I can get needy and clingy and something tells me you hate that in a sexual relationship."

"Not when it comes to sex," House clarified, "but the rest of the time…yeah, that bugs me if I'm in the wrong mood."

"And you're really moody," Wilson said.

House grinned quickly and nodded...then he became very serious, almost fearful. He tapped his cane on the carpeted office floor. "Look…I don't know if this is going to work."

"Neither do I," Wilson answered. He'd expected this to come up today; he was glad it was House who'd brought it up. He had an answer waiting.

"But…I want to try," he said.

But he didn't know what House would say to this; it had bothered him all morning. He paused, afraid of what he might see if he looked into House's face.

"Do you…want to try?"

House looked up at him, eyes piercing. He stopped tapping his cane. "I haven't wanted to try anything in a long time," he said seriously. His expression softened. "But this…I really want this."

Relief broke out on Wilson's face. "So do I," he said.

They looked at each other for a long moment before Wilson's office phone beeped and they both jumped half a foot.

"Dr. Wilson?" his secretary said, "Mr. and Mrs. Taggert are here."

House smiled. "Now do you see why I hate work?" he said, getting to his feet. "All the interruptions."

He leaned in to kiss Wilson. "You should tell her to hold your calls any time I'm here. Tell her to assume we're having hot man sex."

"She'll want to watch if I tell her that," Wilson said. He smiled and kissed House back, lingeringly, eyes closed.

Both were disappointed when the kiss came to its natural end. Reluctantly, they parted.

"Page me," House said and turned toward the door.

"Can't wait to," Wilson said as House opened the door.

They exchanged a final glance before House left.

A line came into Wilson's head as he watched his new lover leave. _Parting is such sweet sorrow…_ Promptly, he shook his head. Pining over House like a school girl. He was getting into so much trouble…

…but he loved it. He smiled fondly to himself before he pressed the page button to have his secretary send the couple in.


	4. Everyone's Kinky Clinic Scene

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

Let the porn continue…

* * *

**Chapter 4: Everyone's Kinky Clinic Scene**

"Why do we have to do this in the clinic?" House griped as he shut the door to Exam Room 1.

Wilson was laying out supplies with his back was turned to the door.

"Because this is where you were banging me in my dream last night," he said.

House froze, a small noise escaping from his throat.

Wilson smiled to himself.

Never surprised for very long, House recovered quickly.

"Kinky clinic sex just moved to the top of my list of things to do to you," he said, placing himself behind Wilson and slipping his left arm under Wilson's arm while he thrust playfully forward a few times.

"Gonna tell me how dream me kept his balance?" House asked, catching the table with his right hand before he fell.

"I was slightly preoccupied," Wilson said in lieu of the truth. This was _a_ truth, after all.

"Mmm," House said into the back of Wilson's neck. "Let's do this."

House rested his chin on Wilson's left shoulder, examining the supplies he'd laid out.

"All present and accounted for," House said, unbuttoning part of Wilson's shirt. He frowned when he ran into fabric.

"New rule," he said, "no more undershirts." His fingers found Wilson's right nipple and began to play.

"How do you want to set up the paperwork?" Wilson asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Wilson's nipple was hard now and House's thumb became serious.

"I'll perform your tests and have the results sent to me and you'll get mine," he said. "Sound okay?"

Wilson tilted his head back, eyes closed, and was silent for a moment while he soaked in House's weight and heat and the firm grasp House had on his chest. He realized House was leaning into him…pinning him against the table. Last night's dream came back to him in full force. God, this was it.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was at work, turning his thoughts to one of his patients.

There. Now he could speak again, even if House had started kissing his exposed neck.

"Are you going to do them from there?" he asked, glancing at the top of House's head with his left eye.

House stopped kissing and looked up. "I could try," he said.

Wilson rolled his eyes and nudged House's head off of his shoulder. House's hand pulled out of Wilson's shirt too fast, accidentally untucking it. He stepped to his right and tucked and buttoned his shirt.

"Ow!" House complained, rubbing his neck, "that's my windpipe."

Wilson turned and kissed House's neck quickly but thoroughly.

"Better?" he asked, pulling back.

"No," House said, stepping closer until their bodies were almost touching again. "Need more than that."

House's eyes were full of intense desire. Wilson shivered—would he ever get used to that new expression? He hoped not.

"Is the door locked?" Wilson asked in a semi-squeak.

House didn't break eye contact. "No," he said.

Those eyes. God.

He realized House was waiting for an indication from him.

"I don't care," he said and leaned in, closing his eyes, touching his lips to House's.

House kissed back as intensely as he'd been gazing and pulled Wilson's hips toward him with his free hand.

Wilson moaned into his mouth and as soon as he could manage to, pulled away.

"Don't get too excited," he said breathlessly, "need a urine sample."

House gazed levelly at him again. "You're gonna make me jerk off in the bathroom, aren't you?"

Wilson's level of arousal jumped so quickly he thought he might pass out. A low noise emerged from his throat and he grabbed House's head and kissed him furiously, pulling House's hips to his with his other hand. Wet, slippery, and hot, House tasted faintly of coffee and bagels. Wilson was starting to enjoy the scratch of stubble against his lips.

House pulled away much sooner than Wilson wanted and Wilson whimpered a little, unable to stop himself.

"Save some for tonight, Jimmy," House said with a sloppy grin.

Wilson recognized that face: House was drunk with passion. Well. There was only one way to sober him up.

Quickly, he made sure House was balanced and crossed the room to lock the door. He'd closed the blinds before House arrived, though he'd told himself then that he'd done it because he'd be conducting tests and for no other reason than that.

House cocked his right eyebrow as Wilson returned.

"Can't wait till then," Wilson said heavily, capturing House's mouth again, hands slipping to House's waist and untucking the shirt there so they could roam freely. He found House's belt and unbuttoned his jeans, sliding both hands into House's underwear to grab his ass. It wasn't until House's hand brushed his penis inside his increasingly constricting briefs that he realized House was engaged in the same hasty exploration—and that this was going to be a brief encounter.

Flushed and wild, Wilson wrapped a hand around House's dick and gently squeezed, surprised at how soft and pliant the skin felt over the stiff core of his erection. Uncircumcised, he realized, House wasn't circumcised. House wasn't as taut as he was. In the back of his mind, he found it strange that he hadn't noticed this last night when House's dick was in his mouth…but then, he wouldn't know one dick from another by mouth. By hand, however, he knew this was different from what he was packing—which House was currently masturbating.

Overcome with a sudden desire to see the thing he was touching, Wilson stopped moving his hand, pulling it out of House's pants.

"I want to watch you do it," Wilson said when House asked him why he'd stopped.

House reclaimed his hand and without a word shoved his briefs down and applied his hand to himself.

Wilson watched, fascinated. He couldn't stop himself from doing the same thing and soon they were hard at it, each watching the other. Both worked at a hurried pace; neither was used to being watched and each wanted to impress the other.

The only noise in the room was a dialogue of harsh pants and the slight slap of skin on skin.

Then House said, "Get on the table."

"Why?"

"I want to suck you off."

Wilson made an inarticulate noise. House should've said something a lot sooner than this but the thought of it was—oh God—

"I can't—" he panted, grabbing a specimen jar and ejaculating messily into it.

Midway through his comedown he saw House do the same thing.

House panted, leaning hard against the table.

"I can't keep doing these five minute wanks," he said. "They're gonna kill me."

Wilson nodded, still waiting for the world to fall back into place. House's jar caught his eye and he compared samples.

He grinned. "No wonder you're about to die," he said, "you blew twice as much as I did."

House limped over to a stool and sat down heavily. "I don't think I masturbate as much as you do," he said.

Feeling a little weak in the knees himself, Wilson slid the supplies aside and sat on the exam table. "What do you base that on?" he asked with a smile.

"Little birdies," House said. "They come to my window and say 'guess what Wilson's doing in his office with the blinds closed right now.'"

"You've been spying on me?" Wilson asked in an incredulous but not at all displeased voice.

"You're really gonna make me give up my secret?" House said.

"I _am_ curious," Wilson said, "but if you don't want to share…" His eyebrows leapt up, insinuating that House's decision would directly impact the intensity of future sexual encounters.

House smiled. "Everything has a distinctive smell," he said. He drew the next words out, taking pleasure in their effect on Wilson. "Especially spit, semen, and sweat."

Wilson gawked at him. He couldn't be serious…

House laughed quietly. "How else would you stay so calm around patients?" he said. He leaned back on the stool, lounging, relaxed. "Or nurses for that matter."

Wilson smiled. House had that part right.

"Mmm…every woman in this hospital is going to be so disappointed," House said, stretching. "Even Cuddy. I think she's got it bad for you."

"There you're mistaken," Wilson said. "You're the one she twists herself into knots over."

"If you'd cause some trouble now and then she'd be all over you," House said. "She loves the bad boys." He cocked his head, considering what he'd just said. "That's something else we need to discuss," he said.

"What is?" Wilson asked.

"Having an openly gay head of a department…I can see donors getting their panties in a wad over that," House said.

"Who says I'm openly gay?" Wilson asked.

"Openly bi," House said. "Whatever. Openly shacking up with another man."

"What about you?" Wilson said.

House snorted. "Finding out I'm sleeping with you wouldn't even make a dent in anyone's opinion of me. They don't need any more reasons to hate me." His gaze shifted to Wilson. "But you…"

Now Wilson snorted. "They can't fire me or demote me over this," he said confidently. "It's illegal."

"No," House said, "but they can harass you. Shun you. Treat you differently."

"You sound like you've got experience, House," Wilson said coyly. "Hiding something?"

House held up his cane with a wry smile.

Wilson looked askance at him. "That's not the same thing," he said. "You didn't _choose_ that."

House shrugged. "If you're different, you're different to some people," he said, "doesn't matter what the difference is."

Wilson studied him. "So…what are you saying?" he asked.

"That this might not be the best thing to shout from the rooftops," House said. "As much as I want to."

"Why are you telling me this?" Wilson asked. "You're the one who told Cuddy."

"She didn't believe me," House said. He paused, thinking. "And that's the best thing you've got going for you."

Wilson waited for House to elaborate.

"After every divorce…after this," he indicated to his leg, "…this whole place always assumed we were fucking just because you stayed with me for a while," House said. "If someone were to cry wolf now, who'd believe them?"

Wilson's face darkened. After a while, he spoke. "I'm not ashamed of this," he said, "and I'm not going to keep it quiet just because a few bigots might not like me as much." He looked at House point blank. "If I suddenly get the urge to kiss you in front of everyone here, I'm going to do it."

House smiled softly, sadly. "You really think Cuddy can protect both of us? I won't lose patients, but you—even with your reputation, parents aren't going to want to bring their dying kids to you."

House watched Wilson's face contort until he looked like a kicked puppy. He hauled himself up and limped over to the table.

"I'm not saying you should feel guilty," House said, brushing his left thumb over Wilson's cheek. "Just be discrete."

Wilson smiled slightly. "I'm not the one who needs lessons in discretion," he said.

"Maybe not," House said. He smiled, gaze lingering on Wilson's face for a moment.

"Okay," he said, reaching for a pair of gloves Wilson had lain out, "let's do this."


	5. Fluff

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

A rather fluffy chapter. Next chapter? Angst and hot sex.

Thanks for reviewing kind reviewers. :)

* * *

**Chapter 5: Fluff**

Foreman stood in his boss's office watching the older man toss his oversized tennis ball back and forth. He reserved the right to pick on Cameron for coming in late and for going out with House in the first place, but he wasn't about to see House, who was so incredibly insensitive, hurt her feelings. Hurting people's feelings made House happy and he was happier this morning than Foreman ever remembered seeing him—something must be up. Given the timing, Foreman felt obligated to talk to House.

After updating House on Harvey's post-op condition, specifically the preliminary neuro exam he had conducted to check for damage from the slew of strokes the guy had had, Foreman lingered, studying him.

"So…you and Cameron," he said, watching carefully for House's reaction. "Nothing happened?"

House stopped tossing the ball, exaggerating offense. "What are you, her pimp?" he asked. "Do I have to pay you for last night too?"

As accustomed as he'd become to House's off-color jokes, Foreman still had to set his jaw to keep himself from saying something he shouldn't say.

"I'm her friend," he answered in a measured tone.

"That's funny," House said, cocking his head to the side and tossing the ball again. "You and Chase were mocking her while your patient was in surgery this morning."

Foreman shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, having become used to House's omnipotence. "She came in late," he said. "Thought she might have had to take a different route to work, maybe taken a wrong turn."

House stared at him in disbelief. "And you didn't get every juicy detail out of her?" he said. "You shame your fellow man."

Foreman didn't take the bait. "She said nothing happened," he said, trying to refocus House's attention, "but you're being…_nice_." He spoke the last word as if it tasted like aluminum in his mouth.

House contemplated him for a moment. "Do you really think Cameron would lie to you?" he asked, half-serious.

Foreman shook his head with a grin. "See, that's my point—yesterday you would've said something like 'How much coke did you have to snort to dream that up, Foreman?' But today…"

House leaned back with a sly smile. "Why are you talking to _me_?" he asked. "I'm not the one you think is lying to you." He stopped tossing the ball. "Or has Chase's masochism rubbed off already?"

Foreman glared at him, annoyed that he was right.

"Anyway, shouldn't you be checking on the patient?" House said. "You're the brain guy. Stroke damage is on you."

Foreman glared at him again and was about to say something when House's pager went off.

House checked it. He threw up his hands. "Hooker's here," he said, "amscray. And I _don't_ have to pay you for this one."

Foreman paused just long enough to get his point across.

House pulled the pager out of his pocket as the door swung shut.

It was from Wilson: _Can't make lunch. Crisis here. Stop by later._

Crisis, eh? House knew what a crisis in oncology usually meant. The enjoyment he'd just gotten out of bugging Foreman faded. Sobered, he got to his feet and headed toward the cafeteria.

* * *

Wilson paused outside of his office to take a deep, shaky breath. It never got any easier. He'd missed lunch with House too. Hopefully House wouldn't take affront to someone's death interfering with his lunch plans…but that was exactly the kind of thing House would do. And if he said something, House might be in the wrong mood and it would turn into a fight…God, relationships were so much trouble.

No. He wouldn't think about it. He wouldn't cause problems less than one day in on this relationship. He could manage at least one day without causing relationship problems. He wouldn't think about House. He would take a little time by himself in the dark, maybe lie down for a few minutes—codes were exhausting; telling the parents was even more exhausting—and then he could face the rest of the afternoon.

He let himself in to his office…

…and was surprised to see House sitting on his couch in the dark with the portable television on—which House turned off and set aside as soon as he entered.

"Hey," House said softly.

He looked…morose? Not a normal expression for House. Did Jenna Jameson just die?

"What's going on?" Wilson asked, refusing to give in to the urge to snark House.

House smiled a little but still looked unhappy to Wilson. "Come here and sit down," he said, patting the couch cushion.

There couldn't be a problem with his test results, could there? It was too early for them to be back—and they'd done the twenty minute oral swab HIV test together, so he knew he didn't have HIV. If he had anything else, it wouldn't be great, but House wouldn't look so…weird.

Slightly confused but not in the mood to argue, Wilson closed the door.

"Got you some lunch," House said. He nodded to a take-out box occupying a corner of Wilson's desk. "Sandwich, salad, chips. I didn't know what you wanted."

Oh. He knew about what had happened and he'd come to be…what? A shoulder to cry on? House?

"I'm not that hungry," Wilson said as he sat down next to House.

"It'll keep," House said. He put his hands on Wilson's shoulders, turning him to the side, and dug his thumbs along Wilson's spine.

Wilson closed his eyes. This was just what he needed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" House asked.

Wilson sat, trying to understand what House was doing. It was so out of character for him, brining lunch (_paying_ for lunch), rubbing his back, asking him to share his feelings. _What have you done with the real House? _he wanted to ask. But he didn't have it in him to be playful right now.

"Not really," Wilson said.

House said nothing, doing the best he could to work out the tension in Wilson's back. He'd gotten a run down of the situation from one of the oncology nurses. This time it was a young patient who'd been improving. A sudden complication. Parents assured of her recovery hadn't been there to say goodbye—they'd gone to an early lunch while she rested. And of course Wilson had taken it on himself to tell them. House could feel all of it in Wilson's back. In a way, he was happy something tragic had happened, allowing him to do this for Wilson. Wilson could simply say 'I love you.' House couldn't. Saying that made him feel too vulnerable. But this, being there when something bad happened, this he could do.

"A woman came into the clinic yesterday," House began. "Septuagenarian. With vaginal tears…from her seventy-three year old boyfriend."

Wilson made an appropriately disgusted noise.

"Wanted me to give him a placebo refill for Viagra—to lie to him because she wasn't willing to tell him she was tired of so much sex." He paused, digging deep into Wilson's neck. "So I did. They came back this morning saying the new pills weren't working. The guy compared his former Viagra-fueled self to a tree." He felt Wilson laugh. He smiled. "It was really disgusting. Until then, I'd thought they were married. Turns out they're having an affair and when I told them that they both wanted the same thing—to cut back on sex—they—oh, this was gross—gave each other a big, sloppy kiss right there in the hallway. I thought I was going to puke."

Wilson was shaking with laughter. "You get the oddest patients."

"Luck of the draw," House said.

He felt the laughter that had overtaken Wilson's body subside and with it more of the tension.

At length, House stopped rubbing Wilson's back. He could sense that Wilson was still troubled. Of course an anecdote about elderly sex wouldn't make what had happened go away. But it was the only thing he knew how to do.

He leaned in to kiss the back of Wilson's neck chastely, then broke contact.

"I can go if you want to lie down," House said quietly.

Wilson sat back on the couch. "No," he said softly. "I feel better." He tried to smile. "Thank you."

House smiled back. "Just promise you'll tell me if the sex is too much for you when we're eighty instead of getting some hot young doctor to switch out your ED pills."

"Think I can manage that," Wilson said. He nodded to the box. "What kind of sandwich did you get?"

"Roast beef," House said. "The turkey looked soggy and old."

"Did you already eat?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah," House said. "All that activity earlier—I was starving." He winked at Wilson and sat up. "My patient should be out of surgery number two," he said. "I need to go tell him not to let his dominatrix strangle him anymore if he wants to keep living."

Wilson flinched. "Wow. You _do_ get the oddest patients."

"I'm a magnet for the unusual," he said with a shrug, getting to his feet.

Wilson stood with him. Something in him was unwilling to let House go so easily.

"This is the guy that kept stroking out, right?"

"The very one," House said going toward the door.

"So you figured it out?" Wilson asked, hands on his hips, not moving to get the sandwich House had brought.

"I'll tell you about it later if you want," House said.

"Sure," Wilson said.

House turned to leave Wilson to his late lunch.

"House."

House stopped.

"Thank you."

House smiled. "I'll see you tonight," he said.

Wilson smiled too. "I'll be there."

Reluctantly, House closed the door.


	6. The Big Night

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

I'm cutting this chapter into two parts. This one's got some more mushy gushy stuff. It's out of character for him, but I think House would be out of the character we're used to in a real relationship. He'd be very awkward and self-conscious early on because he falls hard when he falls for someone—hence his unwillingness to acknowledge whatever feelings he had for Cameron. Aside from the fact that he clearly wasn't ready to have that relationship, I think he's only willing to begin a relationship if he's absolutely committed to it (c'mon, does House do things by half?), and that inclines him being very sweet and tender early on. To try hard to be receptive. I don't know that it lasts. In fact, I really doubt that it lasts. As for Wilson, I don't think he can separate the idea of a sexual relationship from his charming/caring façade (to the extent that it is a façade) and that's going to lead to some problems. So…those are the ideas behind this portrayal for what they're worth.

And, um, the part you're all _really_ waiting for will be in the next post. —hides in flame-proof bunker until then—

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Big Night (Part I)**

"Hey," Wilson said, closing the door behind him with his foot, "sorry I'm late. The line at the grocery store was endless."

He stopped, smelling a familiar scent.

"Are you smoking?" he asked.

"What does it look like?" House said irritably through the butt of a cigar.

"What's wrong?" Wilson asked, depositing the groceries and approaching the chair House was sitting in.

House was wound up and ready to snap at Wilson's concern but before he could say anything, the impulse faded.

He sighed, taking the cigar out of his mouth.

"I was feeling edgy," he said. "Boxed in. It's going to take me a while to get used to this."

He looked up at Wilson and offered the cigar. "Want some?" he asked. "I can't smoke the whole thing."

Wilson was ready to respond characteristically too before something stopped him. He sighed also, shaking his head in answer to House's offer.

"You know what I'm thinking," he said, "so I won't say it."

He picked up the groceries and went to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, he handed House a cold beer and dropped on to the couch, the incident forgotten. House had stubbed the cigar out.

"I got us a steak for dinner," Wilson said. "You still have that grill on your balcony?"

"Might be rusty, but it's out there," House replied, twisting the cap off of his beer.

"Good," Wilson said. "I almost called you and I almost bought one of those baby grills. Glad I didn't." He sipped his beer. "When do you want to eat?" he asked.

"I'm not very hungry," House said. "Whenever you want is fine."

"Okay," Wilson said. He sensed that House was still troubled by something. He hadn't seen House reticent and moody like this all day. But he wasn't going to get into it, whatever it was.

"Medium rare or rare?" he asked.

"You like medium, right?" House said.

Wilson nodded.

"Medium."

"I bought a few boxes of rice and some potatoes, too," Wilson said. "Which one do you want?"

House shifted in his chair. "I'm probably not going to eat very much tonight," he said. "Go with whatever you want."

"Nervous?" Wilson asked with a sly grin. "Because we don't have to—"

"I'm not nervous," House interrupted.

Wilson paused, playful mood gone. "Are you going to make me ask?"

House waited a moment before he responded. "You know you don't have to make dinner," he said.

"Yes, I know," Wilson said. "I want to. I know you like steak. I like steak too. Something wrong with steak?"

"Nothing's wrong with steak," House said.

He was quiet for a long time. Wilson was about to break the silence when House spoke again.

"It's the Vicodin," he said. "If I have to be on my feet a lot during the day or— any time it acts up— I mean, I know I take too much."

He knew Wilson was watching him closely but he couldn't meet the other man's eye right now. He'd hoped this wouldn't come up for a while, but he hadn't been that lucky.

"Some days are better and I don't need so much…" he said. "Today wasn't one of those days."

He rubbed his forehead. God, he didn't want Wilson to know this, but he'd already committed to telling him.

"I'll probably have some saltines in a little while," he said. "Maybe some soup."

He waited for Wilson to reply. He waited through the last possible moment he could stand before he looked up.

Wilson wasn't even looking at him. His eyes were on the floor. But God, that shocked, upset, wounded face.

House looked down again. "I'm sorry," he said. He wasn't for apologizing—he wasn't even at fault—but it was the natural thing to do. "It was really thoughtful of you, I wish I could…maybe I'll feel better in a little while."

He waited again for Wilson to say something. Anything. Anything would be better than waiting.

When he looked up again, Wilson's face still hadn't cleared. House pushed himself out of the chair and settled next to Wilson on the couch, his right hand going to Wilson's left leg.

"Hey," he said, asking Wilson to look at him with body language, "it's okay. I'm used to it."

Wilson remained silent for what felt like an interminable period to House. Having run out of things to say, all House could do was sit there.

Finally, Wilson spoke.

"All these years we've eaten lunch together, all those times we've gotten dinner," he said slowly, his voice a little shaky. "You always seemed fine. You always ate more than I did." He looked up and House noticed that his eyes were shimmering dangerously. "Did I just…not notice…or…?"

House did his best to explain. "I already got enough pity from you," he said, his tone even, calm, not at all accusatory or defensive. "I didn't want any more."

"So…was it all just a show?"

"Not lunch," House said, doing his best to smile. "Not usually, anyway. I'm always starving by lunch time. It wears off over night. And when you came over or we went out, I was almost always drinking. That helps." He waved a dismissive hand. "And anyway it's not much of a problem. I'm just used to going easy on days like this. I mean, I could eat steak tonight if I really wanted to. But…I, ah, didn't want to lie." Self-consciously House took his hand back. "I…um…thought this was something you should know."

Wilson took a breath. This had come as more of a shock to him than he'd expected.

"Is there anything else I should know?" he asked, doing his best not to sound waspish.

House thought for a while. "Nothing I can think of right now," he said.

Wilson didn't seem to believe that.

"You know more about me than anyone else does, except maybe…" House didn't want to say her name. Twice in one week was more than enough; twice in one day he absolutely couldn't do. "But she hasn't been around for this," he gestured to his leg. "You have."

Wilson still wasn't meeting his eyes. House took his hand again. "Please don't be hurt by this," he said. "I didn't mean to keep it from you…it just never came up."

"I'm not…hurt…" Wilson said. He sighed. "I just wish you didn't have to go through it."

"I'm used to it," House said with a shrug. "I wouldn't know how to go back now. It's been too long."

"Have you tried…" Wilson began. He cut himself off with a short laugh, shaking his head. "Of course you've tried everything," he said. "Stupid question."

House's mouth quirked upward in agreement.

"When was your last dose?" Wilson asked.

"About an hour ago," House said. "When I got home."

"How is it?" Wilson asked, slightly hesitant. This was dangerous ground.

House didn't hesitate. "Not bad," he said. "A little achy. I did too much."

"Thought your patient was diagnosed this morning…" Wilson said.

"He was," House said.

"Get a new case?"

"No," House answered. "I was just…restless. Needed to pace."

Wilson nodded his head. "Hence the cigar," he said.

House nodded slightly.

Wilson studied him for a moment, then slipped his arm across House's shoulders.

"I have an idea," he said. His hand found House's neck and he squeezed the muscles there. A little moan escaped House's lips.

"Take off your shirt and sit like this," Wilson said, turning on the couch so that he was facing House.

House glanced questioningly at him. Wilson looked intent…and slightly mischievous.

"What are you going to do?" House asked curiously.

"Isn't it obvious?" Wilson responded. "Same thing you did earlier today."

"You look like you're trying to get into my pants, Jimmy," House said, t-shirt stuck on his head for a moment. "This is what you do for all the girls?"

Wilson shrugged: House was right. "Seduction 101," he answered.

"If I sleep with you, will you give me an A?" House asked, carefully turning his body to the left.

"Only you're a good lay," Wilson said, watching House arrange himself.

House drew his left leg up against him and began working on moving his right leg on to the couch from such an awkward position. He would have fallen back on the couch, balance lost, if Wilson's hands hadn't suddenly appeared strong and firm on his naked back. He didn't protest, concentrating on getting himself balanced and relatively comfortable. He felt the weight distribution on the couch cushions shift as Wilson scooted closer to him, then Wilson's hands went to work.

For the first thirty seconds, House felt too good to make a sound. Eyes closed, he recalled the masseuse Wilson had hired for him during the bet with Cuddy, the motion of her hands on the muscles in his back: Wilson was using a similar technique.

"When did you learn to do this?" he asked, but he was so relaxed that it came out jumbled: "whend'youlearntadothis?"

Wilson understood him. Smiling, hands working their way up House's neck to the base of his skull, digging out tension, he answered: "In college. Took a few classes, got certified, and made a ton of money."

"Got laid a lot too I bet," House said faintly, barely aware of anything but the hands on his back. He wondered vaguely if Wilson had been bothered by his general lack of technique earlier…but whatever, he hadn't complained.

"Not as much as you would think," Wilson said.

"Liar," House said.

"'Modest' is the word you're looking for," Wilson said.

"You know you're gonna have to do this all the time now, right?"

"Only if you repay me," Wilson said.

"In kind?"

"I'll think of something."

"You're spoiling me," House said.

Wilson leaned in as he massaged House's lower back and started kissing his neck lightly. "I think I'm getting more out of it than you are," he said.

"Wanna bet?" House said languidly. "Come around here so I can suck you off."

"Mmm," Wilson said into his neck, "raincheck."

"Who takes a raincheck on a blow—" House was cut off by Wilson's arms wrapping around him gently pulling him down.

Wilson wedged his left leg between House and the back of the couch, adjusting his position until most of House's weight was on his chest and his head was above House's right shoulder.

House turned his head for a kiss and received a peck but before he could demand more, Wilson slipped a hand under House's right arm and was unbuttoning his jeans and plunging his hand into House's underwear. He roamed around, toying idly with House's genitals, pleased when he felt blood start to stiffen House's penis.

In the meantime, House had begun to nip at his ear, tonguing in and around it, and kissing and nibbling his jaw line. Wilson's hand ran up House's chest and stomach, playing with the flesh and hair there and back into his underwear, slowly and without a goal.

After a long interval of wordless physical intimacy, Wilson broke the silence.

"You want to finish now?" he asked languidly, fingers inching down House's stomach, waiting for an answer.

"No," House said into Wilson's neck. "I won't have anything left for later."

He stopped kissing and pulled away. "What about you?" The erection he'd felt all along against his ass hadn't faded.

"Same for me," Wilson said, hand dipping casually into House's underwear again.

House made a contented noise, eyes closed, and kissed Wilson's jaw.

"Did you get my test back?" he asked after a while.

"Yeah," Wilson answered, reaching far to tease House's testicles. "Negative for everything."

"You were negative too," House said when he could speak again, "but I think we should use condoms until I can read up on bacterial infections or become brave enough to administer an enema. I bought some lubed ultra thins on the way home."

"Thinking ahead," Wilson murmured, "I like."

House sat up suddenly, Wilson's hand slipping off of his chest, stretched, and rearranged himself. He reached for a plastic bag on the coffee table Wilson had noticed earlier.

"I also got these," he said, pulling out three DVDs. "The woman who owned the shop said they were the three most popular and the best in her opinion. She looked like she knew what she was talking about."

Wilson sat up too and took the DVDs. All three had scantily clad or naked men on the cover and titles that made use of bad puns. He glanced up at House and raised an eyebrow.

"Should give us some ideas if nothing else," House said. "Don't know how much we'll be able to do, though," he said, unconsciously rubbing his leg.

Wilson smiled. "I have an idea that you won't find on those DVDs," he said. "Full participation guaranteed."

Now House's eyebrow rose.

"A long, hot bath. With lots of steam. I'll order some Chinese food." He ran a hand along House's chest again, his eyes warm. "Suddenly I don't feel like cooking tonight."

House shook his head. "Tub's too small," he said.

"Not for you," Wilson replied with a leer.

"Not fair," House pouted.

"You owe me," Wilson responded. "I like to watch."

"You're such a pervert, Jimmy," House said, catching his hand and sucking on Wilson's middle finger. He grinned to himself at Wilson's expression.

"House. Tub. Now," Wilson said through already parted lips and closed eyes.

House swished his tongue around Wilson's finger and let it go. He made a mental note about Wilson and fingers as he got to his feet and buttoned his jeans.

Wilson watched him go, erection straining against his khakis. It took him a full minute to remember to find the phone and order dinner.

* * *

Completely naked, Wilson draped towels over the toilet seat and tank and stretched himself out. House had deposited himself in the bathtub with little difficulty and had the room filling with steam by the time Wilson had ordered dinner and stripped.

"I dare you to answer the door like that," House said, mischievous but relaxed.

Wilson smiled contentedly. "That's one way to get your address blacklisted," he said.

House's expression became devious and before Wilson could properly react to the change, House had splashed him with water. Just as quickly, Wilson leaned over and splashed House's face. House splashed back and soon the bathroom, including Wilson's towels, was drenched.

"This was a _great_ idea," Wilson said sarcastically as he moped up some of the water while House filled the tub again. House splashed him with hot water from the tap and Wilson rat-tailed one of the towels and threatened to snap House with it. House backed off but as soon as Wilson had unrolled the towel, House splashed him again. Quickly rolling it again, Wilson whipped the air with it and looked dangerously at House. House caught the towel when he snapped it again and tugged.

"Hey!" Wilson exclaimed, letting House jerk the towel away, "slippery surface here. Most home accidents occur in the bathroom."

The wet towel landed with a dunk in the tub. House looked dumbly at it for a moment. "This isn't what I wanted," he said. He looked up at Wilson, who was within arm's reach, and said, "If only there were something else I could pull on to make you come here."

He was reaching for Wilson's groin when Wilson dropped to his knees.

"Or you could just say something," Wilson said, one hand on the tub wall, one going to House's head as he leaned in for a kiss. Still running from the tap, water splashed over the wall. Neither heeded it.

After a while, Wilson turned the water off and House leaned back in the tub again.

Draping a dry towel over the toilet seat, Wilson resumed his former pose, ignoring the mess they'd made.

House start squirting jets of water with his fist.

"Next place we get has to have a Jacuzzi," he said.

Wilson nodded to himself as if he'd been waiting for House to say that.

"That's another thing," he said, "should I be paying half of the rent? How do you see this happening?"

"Did you see Julie this morning?" House asked.

Wilson shook his head. "I didn't say anything to her," he said. "This is also something we need to talk about."

House shrugged. "I'm not the one with the ring and the assets," he said. "What do you want to do?"

"I thought about it today but I didn't reach any conclusions," Wilson said. "I don't know if I want to go through the run around of another divorce. I haven't felt married for at least two years. She can keep the house—I don't care. I don't need the space and the stuff I have there is just stuff. But I know you need space and I don't know if you feel like this apartment is big enough for both of us…" A hint of worry crept into his expression, "…if you want that."

"Since when do you need an invitation, Jimmy?" House asked playfully. Ribbing done, he became serious. "I don't know if this place is big enough," he said. "We'll have to try it."

Wilson nodded. "What about Julie?"

"I don't really care if you stay married," House said. "Gets you a tax cut you couldn't get with me." He paused and pointed a finger. "As long as you don't sleep with her."

"We haven't slept together in over six months," Wilson said.

House winced a little. "I didn't know it was that bad," he said.

Wilson shook his head. "It'll be a relief to get out of there. All we do is avoid each other."

House made a sympathetic face.

"I'll talk to her," Wilson said. "See what she thinks about getting a divorce, moving stuff around." He bent over, resting his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

House watched his body curl, the little bits of fat that stuck out, the lines of hair connecting with the backs of his hands, his groin, his chest, his head. It didn't do much for him. He wanted to see Wilson stretched out again, loafing, not worrying.

"I'm in no hurry," he said.

"Yeah," Wilson said, pulling his face up, resting his chin on his knuckles, and smiling. "This is one way to spoil and evening."

House's lips jumped upward in agreement.

"Feel any better?" Wilson asked. "I _was _interested in seeing you naked," he explained, "but I did have an ulterior motive. Some of my patients say it helps after chemo."

House closed his eyes and tilted his head back, though he was too tall to sink into the water. "Feels good," he said. "Warm bath, extra sleep, a massage, two busted nuts, diagnosed patient, food on the way—and I've got you naked again with plans to have my way with you…" his left hand swam to his crotch and rubbed, and he smiled with the low-level of gratified arousal that on top of the cigar, beer, and Vicodin, felt like having a really good buzz, "…I feel pretty good."

Wilson watched him, stretching out again. "If you do that, I'm gonna want to do that," he said, "and if I start doing that, you're gonna want to—"

The doorbell rang.

House smiled. "Saved by the bell," he said.

Wilson stood and wrapped the towel around his waist, pulling out another dry one for House and leaving it on the toilet.

"The floor is still slippery," Wilson said as he opened the bathroom door. He paused. "Tell me truthfully," he said, "no b.s. Do you need help?"

The doorbell rang again.

"Go get the food before he decides we're not home," House said, making no move to get up.

Wilson hesitated a moment more before vanishing.

House stayed where he was after pulling the drain stopper. The openness of the past twelve hours wasn't anything like what he was used to. It made him uncomfortable, but at the same time, he didn't want it to end.

He hadn't wanted Wilson to ask that question, that hated question. But he relied on Wilson asking it: he couldn't get out of a bathtub by himself after a long day—no way. He never took baths for this reason. Too much risk. But he would never ask Wilson for help even though he knew he needed it, so he relied on Wilson to offer. And he hated that Wilson would and did offer. He hated that he needed it so much. But he also knew this was something he was going to have to deal with every day if Wilson moved in—and he wanted Wilson to move in. But he could see that this was going to be a sore subject.

_Stupid leg_.

Wilson appeared at the door sans towel, laughing. "I don't think that delivery boy sees many half-naked men in his line of work," he said.

"Another mark scarred for life," House said in a pleased tone.

Without exchanging any words, Wilson half-knelt at House's left side, making sure he had a good grip on the floor, while House grasped the bar built in to the wall with his right hand. Moving together, they had House standing in no time, then out of the tub as soon as Wilson made sure the bathmat wasn't going anywhere. Satisfied, he left House to dry himself off.

House emerged in pajama pants and an undershirt after a while to find Wilson in boxers and an undershirt digging for cutlery in his kitchen.

"Chopsticks too complicated?" he asked.

Wilson jumped, not expecting House to be there. He glared at House for startling him.

"Spoons," he said. "There's soup too."

"Spoons?" House said incredulously. "Spoons are for wussies." He flexed his biceps and did his best strong man pose, saying with Schwarzeneggerian inflection, "We're manly men. Manly men don't need spoons. They drink from the bowl!"

Wilson stopped digging, stood to his full height, and with a completely serious expression on his face, beat his chest like an ape, staring territorially at House.

House scrutinized him as he continued to stare. "Very imposing," he said with guarded appreciation.

Wilson beat his chest again. "Very hungry," he grunted.

House looked at him for a moment more before he burst out laughing. He shook his head. "Your voice is too high," he said.

Wilson reddened slightly. "Let's see you try it," he said, nodding at House as if to say, _go on, do it_.

Still laughing, House shook his head. "Let's go drink the soup," he said. Abruptly the laughter halted and House resumed the Schwarzenegger voice, "And then I show you what I an ape I can be."

Now Wilson laughed. "That's not even remotely seductive," he said.

House raised an eyebrow and turned toward the living room, swishing his backside sassily.

Wilson patted his ass before he started forward.

House paused, eyebrow raised again as Wilson passed him. "Take some of the locker room out of that pat," House said with feigned offense, "I'm not that kind of guy."

Wilson turned around. "Why don't you show me what kind of guy you are," he leered.

House leered back and licked his lips. _My pleasure_ his expression said.


	7. Virgins

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

Just a reminder, this fic is rated M for a reason. If anything that's come before in this fic has bothered you, read no further.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Virgins**

"Okay," Wilson said through a mouthful of orange chicken, nodding at the two naked men on the television screen, "I'm starting to feel inferior."

House sniffed in agreement. "No kidding," he said, leaning forward to add more sweet and sour chicken to his box of steamed rice.

"And I have to admit," Wilson began. He paused to swallow. "This isn't doing it for me."

"You don't see it as something to aspire to?" House asked playfully. The men on the screen had assumed a wildly exotic position.

"Well…" Wilson said, eyes on the screen, "I don't want to fuck either of them." He cringed. "And that looks like it hurts."

House cringed too.

Wilson glanced at him. "I hope you didn't throw out all of your old porn," he said.

House laughed through his chopsticks. "I'd need a dump truck for that," he said.

"Lesbians?" Wilson asked.

House shook his head, chewing. "One appetite at a time, Jimmy."

Wilson nodded and reached for the DVD remote. "Game?" he asked pressing stop and turning the machine off.

"Oh yeah," House said, "that'll really get me going."

Wilson rolled his eyes and found a basketball game.

"Mmm," House purred, "all those hoops and balls. Don't know if I can take it."

Wilson rolled his eyes again and stuffed more chicken in his mouth.

Half an hour later most of the food was gone and they were sprawled out on opposite ends of the couch, working off the food hangover in silence, belching occasionally.

"So…" Wilson said after a while. He glanced at House.

House knew exactly what he was thinking. It was time for the main event.

"So…" House echoed, glancing back.

If Wilson was looking for a moment…well, this wasn't it. House was still a little too full for vigorous activity.

Wilson sat up and laughed unsteadily. "I haven't been this nervous about sex since high school," he said.

"Me neither," House said. Odd. He hadn't even had the urge to make a witty retort. Something about sex made him entirely too honest.

They sat quietly for a while longer, both watching the game on television.

Finally, Wilson asked, "What was it like?"

House looked over at him: _what was what like?_

"Your first time," he said.

"Really embarrassing," House said.

Silence stretched on again.

"How old were you?" Wilson asked.

"I thought you didn't care about my sexual history," House said with a slight smirk. He was too nervous to pull off a real smirk.

"I don't," Wilson responded.

House's eyebrows jumped for effect. "Well," he drawled out, "since you put it like that." He kept his eyes on Wilson…and Wilson's eyes were asking for honestly. Damn. Couldn't lie.

"I was eighteen." He tried to hide his embarrassment.

Wilson seemed to have picked up on it. "I was seventeen," he said. "We went to her parents' bedroom one day after school. She said she knew they had condoms." He began to redden. "I don't think I lasted a minute." He sipped his beer for the sheer distraction it afforded. "She said she was a virgin but…" He shook his head slightly and sipped the beer again.

House shook his head in sympathy. "Mine wasn't either," he said. "I was lucky to make it to five minutes. And I wasn't even in high school." Now he sipped his beer. "She was German," he said slowly. "Spending a semester in America. We went back to her dorm after a party and…she was _very _experienced." He laughed nervously. "Boy was she pissed when she found out I wasn't really from the Fatherland. I slipped into English. 'No German boy is that fast,' she said."

Wilson winced once and smiled, pleased that House had shared his story. "Didn't know you spoke German," he said.

House shrugged. "Spent a few years there when I was young."

Wilson nodded, more to himself than to House. No matter how many times he saw House's father, he always managed to forget House was a military brat. Except for the utter contempt for authority, it didn't show.

"How is the Commander?" Wilson asked.

"Not dead yet," House answered. "Mom's fine. Yours?"

"The same," Wilson said.

Another awkward silence ensued.

They had the pretense of watching the last few minutes of the game, but the discrepancy in the score was too large to make it interesting. Wilson stared at his beer bottle, wishing he knew what to say. House had already pulled half of the label off of his bottle. He didn't know what to say either. Eons of time passed. Neither House nor Wilson could ever remember being so uncomfortable around the other. Even during the infarction, even when they had the occasional real fight about House's drug habits—even then they weren't uncomfortable. They weren't anticipating, wondering what the other was thinking. But now…

"You know we don't have to do this," Wilson blurted.

House glanced quickly at him then back to the television.

"I know," he said. "But I really want to." He rubbed his groin. "I had to stop myself from masturbating so many times today…"

"Me too," Wilson said, leaning back on the couch and joining House in a slow groin rub.

"Mmm," House said, feeling the fabric start to chafe, "take your shirt off and come here."

"Take yours off too," Wilson said, shirt already over his head.

House obliged and Wilson slid over to him, leaning in for a kiss.

They started slowly, still sleepy from dinner and both nervous, missing awkwardly as they tried to find the rhythm that had taken them so far so fast in the clinic this morning. Wilson fumbled for the remote and turned the television off as SportsCenter came on.

House nipped his lip a little too hard and he made a passionate, inarticulate noise against House's mouth, taking him by the shoulders and pushing him down on the couch. They broke apart so House could move his left leg onto the couch and Wilson could get on his knees.

"I wish you'd shave this," Wilson said, his finger running along House's cheek.

"Everyone would be suspicious," House replied. He looked up at Wilson looking down on him. Wilson's hair was pulled forward by gravity and his lips were wet, eyes sparkling.

He wasn't bending down to resume, though. Damn. Wilson actually had something to hold over him now. House was suddenly aware of how difficult arguments with him were going to become. Because right now he needed sex with Wilson more than he needed anything else. If he couldn't get sex…

"I'll shave it tomorrow night and let it grow back over the weekend," House said. He put his hands on Wilson's shoulders, ready to pull him down. "Satisfied?" he asked.

"Very," Wilson answered, leaning down.

They kissed for a long time before Wilson started nipping and sucking House's shoulder. House played with Wilson's nipples, thumbing them as they became hard, and ran his fingers through Wilson's hair, but he was careful to stay above the waist. This was only the prologue; no need to go too quickly.

Wilson figured out what he was doing after a while. They were both hard by then.

Wilson stopped sucking House's nipple and raised his head. "This will be easier in the bedroom."

Something about the way he said it…House shut his eyes and groaned. "I want to make this last," he said stiffly, "but you're driving me wild."

"We better hurry then," Wilson said with a seductive grin, leaning back and carefully getting off the couch.

House sat up and got both feet on the floor. "Condoms and lube are in the bag," he said.

Wilson nodded, picking the bag up. He wasn't thrilled about House's insistence that they use protection, but it was House's ass. And the latex barrier would help him last longer if he got too excited…and he sensed he was going to get too excited.

House found his cane and slowly stood up. Wilson frowned to himself. House didn't usually use it inside unless he was having trouble. More than that, Wilson knew House's old cane was near the bed in the bedroom, so he wasn't just taking it with him to have access to one when he woke up later.

"Where are your pills?" Wilson asked, trying to sound neutral.

"Bedroom," House said. "In my jacket." He wasn't pleased this subject had come up but he was determined not to let it come between them right now. Not when sex was on the line.

"Need one?" Wilson asked.

House frowned slightly. "They're not exactly performance enhancers," he answered. "And this conversation will definitely kill my hard-on."

Wilson understood the request to drop the subject. His face became seductive again. "Can't let that happen," he said, starting for the bedroom.

House led the way, his limp more exaggerated than it usually was. Walking with tented pants wasn't the easiest thing to do on two regular legs, never mind a leg and a half.

Wilson fished the condoms and lube out of the bag, dropping it on the bedroom floor. He was shocked at seeing the box.

"Wow," he said, holding the box, "you got the economy pack."

"If all thirty-six of them aren't jizzed in and littering the floor by Monday, I'm going to be one unhappy sex partner," House said, carefully sitting down on the bed.

Wilson gawked at him. House merely raised an eyebrow in reply that said _I'm going to eat you alive._

Wilson swallowed.

"Come on, Jimmy," House said, slipping the pajama bottoms off to expose his half-erect penis, "Time to go where no man has gone before."

Wilson continued to gape. For some reason, the giant box of condoms had brought home what he was about to do to him and he was stunned. He was about to sleep with House. All the fooling around they'd done—hand jobs, blow jobs, mutual masturbation—that was just fooling around. This was something he'd really never done before and he was about to do it with House. He'd been sincere this morning in the note he'd written. He loved House. But loving House was one thing. Fucking him was another thing entirely. But he wanted it so much; he was shocked at how much he wanted it.

House licked a finger and touched it to his ass, making a hissing noise. "Too hot for you to handle?"

Quickly, Wilson snapped out of the trance he'd been in. He could do this. He wanted to do this. He was going to do this.

Confidently, he tossed the condoms and lube on the bed and divested himself of his boxers. Walking up to the bed, he bent down to kiss House but House was faster, and Wilson felt warm lips close over his erection. He shuddered, feeling House cautiously taking him in, darting his tongue this way and that, licking more than sucking. Holy shit. House really was going to eat him alive. Holy shit.

After a few minutes of exploration, House pulled back and looked up at Wilson's pleased-but-needy face.

"Lie down so I have better access," House instructed.

Wilson couldn't argue with that. Making sure he was on House's left side, he sat next to House, scooted up the bed, and laid on his back. House scooted with him, more slowly, and twisted his body to the left.

This time he teased like Wilson had teased him last night, licking the shaft of Wilson's penis like a popsicle, then moving his head down to take one of Wilson's testicles in his mouth. Very gently, he let his tongue play along the little ball of flesh. Slowly, taking his time, he finished sucking the first one and shifted position to take the other one. They didn't taste at all the way a woman's vagina tasted, but the taste wasn't bad. He liked the taste of Wilson's cock better, though, and Wilson wasn't making any strangled noises, so House felt it was safe to assume that sucking his cock would bring him more pleasure.

He teased around Wilson's dick again, running his tongue over the shaft in a variety of patterns, licking the head, until he felt Wilson squirming. Then he pulled back. He'd wanted to try this all day. He'd been reading up on technique.

Playing with the head of Wilson's penis again first, House moved to take it in his mouth and when he felt resistance, started swallowing. He gagged but kept swallowing, trying to suppress the reflex. Suddenly it was gone and his lips were kissing pubic hair. If he could have smiled, he would have. He began moving carefully, knowing that he was giving Wilson one of his (House's) favorite things. Good deep throating felt incredible. He could hear how incredible Wilson found it.

Wilson moaned. "House, stop," he panted. "I'm gonna come now if you don't stop."

Reluctantly, House obliged, letting Wilson have his six and half inches back. He coughed and pulled a pubic hair out of his teeth.

"I need to shave?" he said as Wilson watched him, "_you_ need to shave."

Wilson was still in the other world of sexual anticipation and gratification. "I had no idea you could do that," he said.

"Neither did I," House said. He leaned over Wilson's penis again. "I want to do it again."

Wilson groaned. "I really want to fuck you but if you say that one more time…"

House moved closer to Wilson's upper body and leaned down to kiss him thoroughly, slowly rubbing Wilson's dick with his right hand. Wilson moaned, kissing back with urgency.

House pulled away after a minute and leered. He tossed Wilson the box of condoms and the lube.

"Be gentle."

Wilson closed his eyes and shuddered under the intensity of House's gaze. He was in so much trouble and it was so good.

House watched him, pleased he could still overwhelm someone sexually. Clearly, Wilson found him incredibly sexy. It had been a long time since he'd felt sexy.

Once he recovered, Wilson sat up. "What's the best way to do this…" he began.

"Start with your fingers," House said. He half rolled his eyes, too full of sexual energy to be truly sarcastic. "I hope you know how to do that part by now."

Wilson shook his head. "That's not what I meant," he said. "I mean what's the best position?"

"How am I supposed to know that," House answered.

Wilson surveyed him. "Okay," he said. "Umm…lie on your stomach and spread your legs…how does that sound?"

"Sounds good," House said. "Let's try it."

House flipped over as quickly as he could while Wilson opened the box of condoms.

"Don't waste one on that," House said when he heard Wilson rip open a foil packet.

"You're the one who insisted on protection," Wilson pointed out.

House pushed himself up and twisted around. "You don't have to…" he said.

Wilson knew he wasn't talking about fingers. He sensed House's reluctance, though.

"I don't mind," he said. _Not too much_. He shrugged. "You're the one who should be comfortable this time anyway."

But House appeared to be trying to talk himself out of it still. "I guess if you—"

Wilson cut him off. "Let's discuss this later when I'm not about to shove my fingers up your ass," he said, unrolling the condom on his left index finger. He unscrewed the top of the lube too and squeezed a liberal amount on his finger and smiled seductively.

"Yes sir," House answered with his own seductive smile and lay back down.

"This is gonna be cold," Wilson said. "Ready?"

"Do it."

House's left eye watched him anxiously.

Wilson kept eye contact as he carefully lubed the area around House's anal opening, using most of what he'd spread on his finger, lubed up again, and slowly inserted his finger.

To his credit, House didn't flinch.

Wilson pulled it out before he'd reached the second joint and lubed again. Now his finger went slowly all the way in and he tickled House's prostate.

House gasped, body jerking.

Wilson grinned, pleased at the reaction he'd gotten. "Good?" he asked.

"My dick's pinned underneath me," House said. "Kinda hurts when you triple the blood flow that quickly." House's eye caught him again. "Start stretching and don't do that again until you're ready to pound me."

"Okay," Wilson said, "but if I go too fast…"

House grunted.

Wilson pulled his finger out a little and began stretching the muscles slowly and carefully. House wasn't watching him any longer and he was intent on what he was doing. When he thought House was ready for it, he withdrew his finger, slipped his middle finger inside the condom with his index finger, lubed up again, and slowly inserted both.

"Okay?" Wilson asked.

"Mmm," House replied, eyes closed, clearly pleased with the sensation.

Wilson began stretching again, slowly moving in and out to simulate intercourse. The look of happiness and pleasure on House's face turned to one of need. Eyes closed, starting to breathe faster, House looked vulnerable: he needed this.

Even more blood surged to Wilson's groin as he watched the need on House's face grow. Quickly, Wilson withdrew his fingers again, tossed the condom aside, and moved up the bed toward House's head.

House looked up at him. Trepidation was barely there, buried under a thick coat of desire, but there it was.

"How was it?" Wilson asked.

"Felt weird," House said. "Like you were pulling my colon out."

"Do you want to…"

"No," House said. "It was really good…just weird also."

Wilson nodded slightly and leaned down for a kiss. House propped himself up on his palms and kissed back.

"Ready?" Wilson asked when the kiss had ended.

House nodded.

"Tell me if I go too fast," Wilson said.

House nodded again and lay back down.

Beginning to feel more nervous but still electrified by need and desire, Wilson slipped a condom on, rubbed extra lube on it, and positioned himself as best he could without getting too close to House's leg—which was a challenge.

"Okay," Wilson said, positioning his penis at House's reddened opening but not pushing in. "Feel me?"

"Yeah," House said. "Go."

Planting his knuckles on the bed, Wilson slowly pushed forward. He heard House hiss and felt him stiffen, and stopped his forward progress. _Let your partner's muscles become accustomed to you before you go forward: don't pull out; just wait_. He followed the advice he'd looked up and waited, and soon he felt House's muscles relax around his penis and he advanced again.

After five long minutes of being gentle and going slow, Wilson was finally all the way in. It felt wonderful, so tight and hot. He hadn't felt anything this tight around his dick in ten years. He regretted the condom, but House was the one being penetrated. It really was up to him.

Wilson pulled out slightly and shoved in, gentle but intently. House gasped.

"Hurt?" Wilson asked.

"A little," House said, "but keep going. Feels good."

Wilson pulled out farther this time and slid back in more slowly. House's muscles were contracting all around him; it was so good. Too good for words. Suddenly he was grateful House had insisted on a rubber. He wouldn't last at all in such a tight, hot space without it.

Out again and then in again, faster and harder this time, but still very slow. House was too tight to let him forget that this was a virgin he was fucking. And he could hear House breathing the ragged breaths of intercourse: surprise and ecstasy in House's breathing.

Again out and again in. God this felt so good. He was holding back with every inch of his will, so badly did he want to start a rhythm.

"More lube," he heard House gasp out.

Wilson pulled out and complied, lubing liberally. He was about to ask again if he was hurting House too much when House suddenly pushed himself up, carefully getting on his hands and knees.

He looked intensely over his shoulder at Wilson. "Fuck me hard."

Wilson was too into it now to stop, but not so into it that he wasn't feeling playful. On his knees, he moved until his penis was in position but he didn't push. Instead he grabbed House's hips and leaned forward.

"What did you say?" he whispered dangerously, stroking House's dick once, quickly.

House shuddered. "I said fuck me hard, Jimmy," he panted.

Wilson leaned forward again and kissed House between the shoulder blades, then plunged his penis in hard, hands on House's hips.

House cried out—a good cry. The cry he, Wilson, often made when he was being fucked in his dreams. Wilson didn't stop, but he did ease the force, slamming in again more gently, though it was becoming more difficult for him to think. The tight flesh encasing him was too good. He slid in and out gently a few times before House spoke again.

"Harder."

Wilson pushed in hard again and House gasped and shuddered. Wilson finally started a rhythm, slow but forceful, and House gasped and moaned every time he pushed in. Wilson felt himself starting to lose it—House was so tight—and began employing the standard mental distractions to make it last. The noises House was making, the panting, gasping, moaning, shaking sounds of pleasure—all of it made distracting himself more difficult. He'd had no idea it would be this good.

"Faster," House panted.

Wilson increased his pace, barely holding himself together. He wasn't going to come after only five minutes of proper fucking. No. He could last so much longer than that. He was going to make House come first. But if he kept up this pace and this force…

House's cries became louder and more plaintive and Wilson tried to rock harder without giving in to the orgasm that had built so quickly. He concentrated on dead, disgusting things, stomach-turning, revolting, things, but the slap of his hips and balls against House's ass and the squish of penetration were so good. He was panting, shaking, sweating, feeling his sweat mix with House's, creating more heat, God how could anyone be this tight.

He pushed in and held the position, the natural cool down between segments of hard fucking. House needed it too, momentary respite from such intense pleasure.

Wilson felt the need to ejaculate recede after a few slow pumps. Rejuvenated, he started the hard, fast rhythm again, rejoicing in House's breathless gasps, even more grateful for the layer of latex that kept him from losing it too early.

He hadn't had sex this good in such a long time, but it was becoming clear to him that he wasn't going to last much longer. Judging by the sounds House was making, House wasn't going to last much longer either.

Again, he pushed in hard and stayed there, resting, letting House rest. The pulse of their collective panting filled the room and the sweat shining on House's back in the lamp light was suddenly incredibly sexy. Compelled by the need to feel resistance again, Wilson resumed the rhythm, but this time he went more slowly. If House asked him to speed up or pound harder again…he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold out through a third series. Normally a third series of serious fucking was part of his warm up—not even the center of the performance. On a good night, he could still last well over an hour. But this…God, House was too tight.

"Jimmy…" House gasped as Wilson pumped into him at medium speed. "Take it off. I want to feel you."

"Can't," Wilson panted. "I'll come too fast."

Before House could say anything else, Wilson pushed in hard, making him gasp. Then Wilson leaned over, planting his right hand on the bed, and started stroking House's cock. He began pumping again, trying to time his thrusts with his strokes. House's body tensed and Wilson heard his pre-orgasmic gasps and pants increase.

"My leg's cramping," House gasped. "Hard and fast, hurry."

Wilson summoned the strength he'd been saving for the climax and pounded as hard and fast as he could, jerking House's dick frantically. He was cueing up a stream of distracting images to make himself last when he felt House start to come. Removing the throttle he'd kept on his mind, he sped to a furious pace, hearing House's loud orgasmic moans, feeling House's muscles contract around his cock, and his own orgasmic rush caught up with him, hot cum spreading up the condom as his entire body focused on shooting it out.

House collapsed under him and Wilson's penis fell out as the last of the ejaculate left him. He fell on to his back to House's left, savoring the bliss of an intense orgasm. Even with the early ending, that was the best sex he'd had in at least two years. He heard House coming down next to him and smelled a mix of their sweat and semen and latex.

For a few minutes, neither moved. It had been too good.

As soon as Wilson was able to, he got up and went to House's jacket, retrieving his pills. He'd noted its location earlier, certain that no matter how it went, House would need one afterward.

Back on the bed, he shook out two and put them in House's hand, put the bottle on the night stand and collapsed again. House pushed himself up off of his semen-drenched stomach and swallowed both of them before he too collapsed again.

After a few minutes of silent satiation, Wilson asked, "How was it?"

"Incredible," House breathed.

"Me too," Wilson echoed. He pulled the condom off and sat up again, looking around for a towel. Nothing but his boxers and House's pajama pants. He got up and picked up both garments, wiping himself off with his boxers. House wasn't moving, lying quietly on his stomach, but Wilson could tell he wasn't asleep. Neither was he in pain though.

Wilson went to the side of the bed House had slept on last night—the side he, Wilson, had just be on—and pushed the covers down.

"Can you roll over?" Wilson asked.

House did, slowly, twist his torso first, then moving his leg, the rest of his body following through as it fell in the space Wilson had created for him. Wilson gave him the boxers and he wiped himself up. Wilson could see tiredness and pain in his face, but also the remnants of bliss. He moved the covers out from under House's feet and tossed them to him. House let them lie where they fell, still enveloped in post-coital satisfaction.

Wilson got the towel he'd worn to answer the door earlier and spread it on what was becoming his side of the bed—the side with all the semen stains, he thought, _thanks House_. He made a note to do laundry tomorrow. Right now he was too tired and too sated. He lay down on his stomach, head facing House, who was clearly in pain.

Wilson wanted to say something. Something like 'we'll have to find a new position.' But House looked like he didn't want to hear anything right now.

Wilson was nearly asleep, drowsy and happy, but he had to know if his partner was all right.

"Okay?" Wilson asked, his face mashed against the pillow, speaking in shorthand.

"It'll kick in a minute," House said. Wilson could hear how sleepy he was too. "That was amazing, Jimmy," he murmured.

"You've got to try it the other way," Wilson said. "I haven't been in anything so tight…"

"You felt huge," House said.

Wilson's ego doubled in size on the spot. He grinned stupidly. "Sore?"

"Yeah," House said. "The good kind of sore."

"My pleasure," Wilson said. He pushed himself up. "Think you can sleep?"

"Oh yeah," House said. "Turn the light off."

Wilson leaned over to do that. If he'd had his mind with him, he would have made another mental note to get a lamp for his side of the bed so he wouldn't be leaning over House all the time.

"Let me know," Wilson said when he'd settled back down on his stomach. He didn't have to say anything more. House knew what he meant.

Minutes later, Wilson was asleep. Minutes after that, House joined him.


	8. Seduction in the Morning

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

Glad the last chapter worked for you guys. I was a bit nervous about it. Here's a little scene to tide you over till Tuesday.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Seduction in the Morning**

Wilson woke with a start to the smell of House's apartment and semen. The digital clock on House's table said 1:10 and House was missing. His hand swept out; the bed was still warm. Probably just in the bathroom.

He was nearly asleep again when he heard a noise he couldn't quite place. The protective instinct that came with fifteen years in and out of marriage brought 'burglars' immediately to mind, but he brushed it off. House was an insomniac: he was probably just doing…something…whatever. He gave it up and was resigned to sleep again when the noise interrupted him a third time. Dammit. Now he was awake.

He wasn't used to locating night sounds in House's apartment, but this sounded like it was coming from the direction of the kitchen. Curiosity and a smattering of concern overwhelmed fatigue and he rolled off the towel he'd been sleeping on and out of bed. And anyway, he was thirsty.

He wasn't too surprised to find House naked in the kitchen stuffing cookies into his mouth with one hand while he made a sandwich with the other.

"Keep it down, will ya?" Wilson said playfully.

House started and looked up, butter knife stopping mid-spread. "Sowwy," he said through a mouthful of cookie. "I was starving."

Wilson smiled. "You gotta make me one now too," he said, one hand going to squeeze House's neck affectionately while he opened the refrigerator with the other.

House snorted through the cookie and swallowed. "Just cause you bought the materials and I woke you up—doesn't mean anything."

Wilson grinned and shook his head, pouring a glass of water. House batted his hand as he swiped a few of the cookies he'd bought yesterday and retired to the opposite counter to watch House work. He drained the glass of water in one long gulp and bit into one of the cookies.

"Make mine a ham and swiss with lettuce, tomato, and a little mayo," he instructed.

House stopped spreading mustard and looked over his shoulder. "Did you just name every ingredient I'm not using?"

Wilson grinned with devilish satisfaction and finished the cookie.

"Bastard," House said.

Wilson half-shrugged. "It's your fault I'm hungry."

"I could say the same," House pointed out, "but I'm not demanding sandwiches from you."

Wilson raised a playful eyebrow. "I want double ham," he said, stuffed another cookie in his mouth, and left the kitchen.

"Jerk!"

Wilson smiled as he entered the living room, shook his head, and started cleaning up the congealed remains of last night's dinner.

Without any conscious intention on his part, he began surveying the room, adding and subtracting items from a shopping list and a to-do list that had wormed their way into the back of his mind over the course of the day. He adjusted the layout of the living room to accommodate a few of his things that had always been his, James's, not James's and Julie's or James's and anyone else's, and had moved with him from marriage to marriage. The recliner he loved was the number one object. House had his favorite chair and a sofa as living room furniture. It only made sense to add Wilson's favorite chair. It would fit easily with a few adjustments. He'd bring the few movies he owned and his porn collection. House had more up-to-date audio-visual technology than he did, so he didn't need to bring any of that. His mind flitted briefly to the golf clubs and other sports gear he owned. Those might be better off in a storage unit. He'd have to consult with House on that one. He hadn't been in House's extra bedroom in ages, but the last time he'd seen it, it had been stuffed to the ceiling with books, records, music scores, and journals—funny, he recalled a lack of shelves. The only clear corner housed a computer and a comfortable office chair. Wilson imagined he could easily fit his own computer and home office materials in the room if he organized the heaps of books first—or at least shelved them. He had a few photos and knick-knacks he wanted to keep with him, but…was that really it? Was that really all he needed from his old life? Clothes of course. He'd need most of his clothes. He'd check on closet space later.

Stacking the containers in two manageable piles, he took them to the kitchen to throw them away. Wisely, he said nothing when he saw a jar of mayonnaise and packages of ham and swiss cheese on the counter next to House's untouched sandwich. He refilled his water glass and went back to the opposite counter, this time jumping a few inches to sit on it.

House made a disgusted noise, his back turned. "I cook there," he said. "Balls off the counter."

Wilson shrugged. "They're going to end up in your mouth anyway…"

"Not if you don't shave," House answered, back still turned, slicing a tomato.

Wilson sniffed. "Any plans for the weekend?"

He watched House's shoulder blades move as he shrugged and sliced.

"Starla and Candy are coming over and I'll fist one while the other blows me," he said, adding the tomato slices to the sandwich. "You know, the usual."

Wilson grinned. If House had said that two days ago, it would've been pathetic. Now…now he really loved how playful House had become. He'd had no idea House would be this surprising.

"So that's a no to fantastic sex with your hot young stud boyfriend," Wilson said.

House added lettuce to the sandwich. "Well, when you put it that way…" He swung his hips cautiously from side to side.

Wilson grinned again. "I was thinking I'd bring some stuff over here," he said. "A chair, my computer…"

House put the top slice of bread on Wilson's sandwich and put the ingredients back in the refrigerator. "You won't be able to lift a toothpick when I'm done with you," he said, back still turned.

That tone. He was absolutely serious. Wilson shivered, eyes closing involuntarily, cock jerking.

House turned around just in time to catch the shudder that passed through Wilson. He smirked triumphantly.

"Sandwich?"


	9. Work is Hell

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

This is part one of a larger chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Work is Hell**

House clicked off the badly-pixelated fireworks announcing he'd won the fifth game of Spider Solitaire in a row _and_ beaten his all time high score. He'd had a banner day with Minesweeper too and half a dozen other online games. He'd shaved milliseconds off of his best time on the two racing games he had in his desk for his Nintendo DS. He'd beaten all of the other games too recently to make playing them again interesting. Dominatrix Guy was resting comfortably. Cameron and Chase had both lined up at seven o'clock with cases that weren't even remotely interesting. Foreman had no offering today, still busy assessing Dominatrix Guy's stroke damage. He had paperwork he could be doing, but who wanted to do paperwork?

It wasn't even eight thirty yet and he'd had half an erection or more for two hours. Nothing he did would get Wilson to leave his thoughts. It had been damn annoying until about ten minutes ago. Now it was unbearable. But it wasn't even eight thirty yet.

He sighed and rubbed his face. Anything to keep his hands above the waist.

He'd let Wilson sleep in this morning after their midnight sandwich attack. He'd managed two hours of sleep after he and Wilson had gone back to bed, too full and sleepy to do anything but start snoring. Amazing. Six solid hours of sleep last night and even more the night before. Wilson was really cutting into his infomercial watching. But he knew Wilson liked more than six hours of sleep, so he'd been extra stealthy sneaking out of bed when he woke up at three-thirty. Wilson hadn't gotten up until five-thirty, the lazy bum, and House had suffered through those two hours of keeping his hands off his dick in silence. It would have been nice to squeeze one out when he got up, but he wasn't used to so much action. He was starting to chafe. So he'd been saving himself.

The hot shower they'd shared had made Wilson late for work (in his mind—House didn't think Wilson _really_ needed to arrive at six a.m. sharp), and from the moment House had gotten into his car for the drive in, he'd had half a stack. Mutual exhaustion from yesterday and the decision to make tonight extra special had helped with the chafing, but it was making his life difficult right now. It was still only 8:20. _How_ could it be only 8:20?

His right hand started to wander; he caught himself just in time.

This was all Wilson's fault.

An image of Wilson sitting on his counter, bare naked, dripping juice from the tomato slices in his sandwich on his cock and grinning a 'won't you come clean this up?' grin came unbidden into his head and made him shudder, and he was suddenly at three-quarters. Dammit, Wilson. It didn't help that he recalled exactly how nice a combination tomato and cock made either.

He smacked his leg lightly and was pleased when the blood flow receded to one quarter in his pesky appendage. The leg (normally the pesky appendage) was coming in handy for once. And the low level of arousal he couldn't get rid of had helped so far this morning. He'd hardly noticed the leg. Hitting it hadn't been the best idea, but if Wilson kept dancing back into his head like that, he'd be able to stretch his Vicodin doses today. Endorphins made a real difference. But maybe he'd be better off taking the stuff if he was going to be _this _troubled all day. But then again, he wasn't sure how much a regular dose schedule would affect his performance—if it would at all. With Stacy… He stopped himself. No. He wouldn't think about her. He'd concentrate on making it through the day because he had _plans_ for Wilson tonight. The trouble was waiting for tonight to come.

…and now the plans, along with a thoroughly unclothed Wilson, were dancing back into his thoughts. Dammit. He hadn't been this distracted by his penis since he was thirteen. Dammit, Wilson.

He was about to begin a round of Hearts when he suddenly knew what he had to do. Yes. This was the perfect antidote to sexual arousal. He got to his feet and left his office.

* * *

Chase was just finishing some paperwork when Foreman arrived and went straight for the remnants of the morning's coffee.

"Gonna give yourself an ulcer with that stuff," Chase said without looking up.

"_House _will give me an ulcer," Foreman said. "Coffee is my friend."

"What's up with you and House?" Chase asked, proofreading his work.

"He's acting weird," Foreman said. He leaned against the sink and did his best not to snarl at the dregs he was drinking.

"What's weird for House?" Chase asked rhetorically, pen going to his mouth. "You mean he's acting normal?"

"I mean he's acting _nice_," Foreman said.

Chase studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "So?" he said. "If work is slightly more bearable, all the better, right?"

Foreman shook his head. "It doesn't bug you?"

"That my boss is being nice for a change?" Chase scoffed. "No, can't say I'm bothered."

"Something's going on," Foreman said, eyes narrowing.

"He probably won a big bet or something," Chase offered.

"He'd be gloating if he'd won a big bet," Foreman said.

Chase shrugged. "I don't see the problem."

Foreman was about to elaborate on the nature of the problem as he saw it when Cameron stuck her head in the door.

"Either of you seen House?" she asked. "He's not in his office."

"No," Foreman answered. Chase shook his head.

She cocked her head.

"What've you got?" Chase asked.

"A case," she answered.

"I haven't seen him in a few hours," Foreman said. He looked to Chase.

"I thought he was in his office," Chase said.

They both shrugged. Cameron entered and sat down.

"Okay," she said. "It's probably better to run it past you two before we try to find him."

Both men nodded. Chase put aside his paperwork and Foreman took a seat while Cameron began laying out the case.

* * *

House sighed and worked his neck back and forth as the twenty-third patient he'd seen in the last three hours left with an antihistamine prescription for his itchy rash and the suggestion that he see an allergist pronto. This had to be some kind of record, but the self-prescribed antidote was beginning to wear off. He needed to see a doctor.

He got up to page Wilson and wave the next person in.

The nurse gave him her chart and he skimmed it. Vitals normal. Complaining of headache, nausea, vomiting, and light sensitivity. She was hardly twenty-one, dressed in an oversized university sweat shirt and pajama pants. He noted circles under her eyes, pallor, and a very distinct smell.

"Word to the wise," he said as she sat down on the exam table, "it's easier to con a doctor into giving you a note for class if you don't come in smelling like you've been swimming in bathtub gin."

"My roommate's been sick," she said lamely.

But she also flushed. People always gave themselves away whether they meant to or not. The devil really was in the details.

House half-smiled. "Hang out for a little while," he said. "I have a feeling my boss is about to burst in here and demand an explanation for why I've been working all morning. Play along and I'll fix you right up."

She seemed satisfied and House stretched his neck again, wondering idly if Wilson would beat Cuddy in or if she'd intercept him and they'd enter together.

* * *

Cuddy was examining the clinic register at the front desk when she saw Wilson appear and cross toward Exam Room 3. Perfect. Wilson would know why House was suddenly doing his job.

"Wilson," she said catching up with her.

He stopped and turned politely.

"What's going on with House?" she asked.

Wilson's eyebrows lowered, confusion filling his face. "What do you mean?"

"Did he page you?" she asked.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "He always pages me when he's down here." He checked his watch. "But I didn't think he was scheduled today."

"He's not," Cuddy said. "He showed up at eight-thirty and he's been in there since then."

Wilson shook his head slightly, not understanding what she was saying to him. House routinely commandeered exam rooms for his own use.

"Treating patients," Cuddy added.

Wilson's expression became appropriately surprised. Truthfully surprised even. House had been treating patients for the last three hours?

"He's seen more patients than the Neilson and Donner combined," Cuddy said. She shook her head in exasperation. "What's going on?"

Wilson shook his head too, genuinely bewildered now. "I don't know," he said. He nodded toward the room. "Maybe he'll tell us."

Cuddy was appeased and they entered the room together.

House was lounging in the corner and a female patient was waiting on the table.

"What are _you_ doing here?" House said rudely to Cuddy. In the back of his mind, he was proud of himself for not immediately pouring five hours of pure lust into one look at Wilson.

"Trying to find out what you're up to," Cuddy responded.

"Uh, healing the sick?" House said. He nodded to the woman on the table. "Get out of here. I'm with a patient."

"What do you need Wilson for?" Cuddy asked.

"Hot, steamy sex," House replied, his face perfectly straight. "He owes me one."

To his credit, Wilson didn't choke. But if Cuddy had been watching him, she would have noticed a marked flinch.

Instead, all of Cuddy's attention was focused on proving to House how unamused she was with him at the moment.

House rolled his eyes. "I want him to check this lump out."

"A lump!" the patient cried. He hadn't even examined her and he was talking about lumps? "I have a lump!"

"You _are_ a lump," House clarified. He turned his attention back to Cuddy, telling her to leave without speaking.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes, not convinced that he wasn't up to something.

House stared back, also unmoving.

Cuddy had several choice threats cued up, but remembering a patient was present, kept them to herself. She settled for a final hard glare that communicated every one of those threats and left House, Wilson, and the patient alone.

"I have a lump!" the patient cried again, nearly frantic. "You didn't even look at me!"

House rolled his eyes. Now that Wilson was here and he'd had a sparring match with Cuddy…he'd forgotten about the patient.

He started scribbling, then got to his feet. "Here's your get-out-of-class free card," he said, handing her one piece of paper, "and here's the name of a gynecologist. You're twenty-two and you've never had a gyno exam—unless you were lying to the nurse about that." He gave her the other piece of paper. "Make the appointment during class and you'll get to skip again without all the mess of a hangover."

The patient gave him a mean look but took the papers and left.

As soon as the door swung shut, Wilson turned to House.

"House, what's—"

House pulled him into a crushing kiss before he could finish the sentence. Wilson was just starting to get into it, moaning a little, when House pulled away.

House gulped in air. "I've needed that all morning." He swallowed, panting, and continued. "I need you to fuck me _now_."

Wilson didn't hesitate. He kissed House hard and started pushing House's jacket off.

House stopped him as quickly as he could, "No, no, not in here," he said.

Wilson's eyes asked why.

"Cuddy's listening at the door."

Wilson nodded.

"Here's what we're gonna do," House said. "You leave first. Act like you're angry with me. I'll follow and meet you in your office."

"In my office?" Wilson said. "We can't—"

"She's going to open that door in less than a minute," House said. "We'll argue about the venue later." He kissed Wilson again briefly. "Go."

Wilson nodded and took a moment to calm himself. He realized the red in his cheeks would add to the realism of him being angry with House—he hoped, anyway—wiped his mouth, and left.

Outside, just as House had said, Cuddy was waiting for him.

"She's fine," Wilson said. He rolled his eyes to express impatience. "House is just being House."

Cuddy didn't look fully convinced.

Wilson checked his watch. "I've got to go," he said.

She nodded, giving him leave.

Now she waited for House.

He emerged a few minutes later and came right up to her. "Great job," he said flippantly, "now he's pissed at me too."

He tried to turn but Cuddy took him by the shoulders. "House, _what_ is going on?" she demanded. This time she wasn't angry: she was concerned.

House glanced at one her hands with disgust and she removed them.

"I'm doing my job," he said. "That's a problem?"

He'd worn restrictive briefs this morning anticipating moments like this but they weren't doing their job as well as they should be. Thankfully, Cuddy wasn't interested in what was going on below his waist and his jeans were doing their job—add to that being on his feet and having Cuddy in his face. He felt the problem disappearing. He could have sighed with relief if Cuddy hadn't been, well, in his face.

And her face was softening. "I heard about what happened with Cameron," she said softly.

House reacted with affront. "Nothing happened with Cameron," he said in a get-out-of-my-business tone.

"Were you avoiding her this morning?" Cuddy asked.

House's face twisted into an ugly expression that clearly said 'no'.

Cuddy assumed an administrative stance again. House never did open up to anyone.

"If there's going to be a problem with the two of you working together, I need to know," she said.

House had had enough of the conversation and he was finally able to walk again without listing dangerously, so he took his leave.

"Did Vogler leave a last request?" he said, hoping she wouldn't follow. "Because if so, you can still axe Chase. I won't mind."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. No, House never opened up to anyone. And he was behaving for once. Doing his job. Showing up on time. She'd be pleased if the whole thing weren't so eerie. She shook her head as she watched him go. Whatever was going on with him might be a good thing after all…


	10. Satisfaction

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

This chapter lives up to the fic's M rating. If you can't handle the M, please avert your eyes. However, if someone is unable to avert his or her eyes and cannot handle the M, I guess drop me a review or a PM to that tune and I'll relocate this chapter. Please give me the chance to remove it before you go to the site mods. I won't fuss.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Satisfaction**

"Dr. Wilson!"

The Australian accent was unmistakable. Wilson stopped, cursing himself for wearing khakis, cursing Chase for detaining him, and cursing House for kissing him and getting him excited.

_Dead puppies dead puppies dead puppies_.

It wasn't working. He could still feel House's lips on his, the scratch of stubble.

"Yes?" he said when Chase caught up with him. He dearly wished he had a chart or a file to hold over his crotch.

"Have you seen Dr. House?" Chase asked. "We've got a case he might be interested in, but we can't find him."

"Uh, I think he's in the clinic," Wilson answered. "Good luck getting him to take a case on a Friday."

Chase's head snapped back. "The clinic?" he said. "He's not scheduled… What's he doing there?"

"Watching soaps?" Wilson offered lamely. "I don't know," he said.

Chase nodded with exaggeration, _of course that's what he'd be doing_. "Thanks," he said. "Listen, do you think he's been acting kind of odd since the, ah, date with Cameron?"

Wilson shook his head. "Not that I've seen," he answered.

"Huh," Chase said. "Foreman seemed think…" He waved a hand. "I guess it's nothing."

"You're probably right," Wilson said.

Chase nodded. "Well, if you see him, tell him we're looking for him."

"I will," Wilson said and then Chase was gone.

Wilson breathed a sigh of relief. Chase's eyes hadn't dipped below his neck and he'd managed to keep his voice from squeaking. Mission accomplished. Now to get back to his office before anyone else waylaid him.

* * *

House, too, was hurrying as best he could. The encounter with Cuddy had thrown his erection down to second gear but as he got in the elevator, the knowledge of where he was going started to speed things up again. 

If he could only get past his office to Wilson's door without—damn, Cameron was coming down the hall. Double damn, she'd seen him before he could duck around a corner.

"Dr. House," she said.

"In a hurry here," House said, not stopping to let her talk to him.

"This won't take a minute," she said, matching his quick pace.

"In another minute I'll need clean underwear," House said. "Avoid the enchiladas at all cost." It helped that he wasn't walking normally.

Cameron wasn't repelled. "Four year old male, high fever, persistent—"

"Don't do peds," House said. Luckily, he was coming up on the men's room. He turned to her, hand on the door. "I'm gonna be a while, but you might want to hold your breath anyway." He made a face that indicated something horribly smelly.

Cameron gave him an unimpressed look, rolling her eyes, and started back to their office as House entered the bathroom.

Inside, House waited, hearing her footsteps recede along the hallway. So hard was he concentrating on Cameron's departure that he didn't hear Brown at the urinal.

"Hiding out, House?" Brown said.

House's head snapped up. Brown was smirking at him from over his shoulder. He looked down, shook, and fastened his pants. House merely rolled his eyes and hoped Brown wouldn't notice the tent he was pitching.

Great. Now he'd have to wait for Brown to leave too. Brown's office was close to Wilson's. Just great.

Brown looked up again as he washed his hands. "I can see if the coast is clear," he offered with another smirk.

House merely rolled his eyes and limped to one of the urinals. Might as well pretend to be doing what one was supposed to do in bathrooms.

Brown smirked again but left without saying anything else. House counted slowly to twenty, hoping no one else would come in.

In that time, he transferred a few items from his jacket pocket to his jeans pocket, feeling his pulse quicken. He needed this to happen now.

Barely able to walk straight but determined to reach his goal, he carefully exited the bathroom.

* * *

He entered Wilson's office with a sigh of relief. Wilson was leaning casually against his desk, eyes half-lidded and smoky. 

Each crossed half way to meet the other and lips met, tongues tangling, hands rudely exploring. House shifted Wilson's hips so his left leg could nestle against Wilson's crotch. Wilson took the hint and pressed in closer, his own left leg challenging the hardening flesh it encountered.

After a torrent of sloppy kisses, they broke for air.

"What took you so long?" Wilson asked as he panted.

"Cameron," House said, also panting. "Something about work."

"Yeah," Wilson said, his hands pushing House's jacket off, "were you really in the clinic all morning?"

"It's all your fault," House said, helping Wilson get his hand out of the jacket sleeve and tossing it aside. "I needed something to get rid of my hard on."

"Cuddy's suspicious," Wilson said. "So are Chase and Foreman." He placed a hand on House's chest and looked up. It was plain that he didn't care.

House didn't care either and he said so. Then he reached into his jeans pocket and produced three condoms, last night's lube, and a small bottle of lotion.

"What does your afternoon look like?" he asked. He would have been coy if he'd had it in him, but he was too absolutely needy.

Wilson stopped gawking at the number of rubbers House had brought and turned his eyes back to House's to answer.

"One meeting," he said. "I try to keep Friday afternoons clear."

"Anything in here?" House asked.

Wilson shook his head.

"Then you won't mind if it smells like sex."

House took him roughly and kissed him hard again, hands ripping at the buttons on Wilson's shirt, trying to get to flesh as quickly as possible.

Wilson gently pushed him back. "Wait, wait," he said. House stopped reluctantly, breathing harshly. "Do you remember how loud you were last night?"

"I'll be quiet," House said. He tried to lean in again but Wilson stopped him.

"Seriously," he said. "I thought we didn't want to get caught."

"I'm capable of being quiet," House said, untucking Wilson's shirt and finishing the buttons. His hand was in the vicinity, so he reached down to cup Wilson's crotch and squeeze. "This isn't the first time I've had an office fuck."

Wilson was convinced, more by the hand on his erection than anything else, and gave in to his own lust as House pressed him close and every part of their bodies that could touch did. No more needed to be said.

Out of necessity, they let inches come between them. House's hands ran up Wilson's shirt, delighting in the bare flesh they found, and Wilson's fingers attacked House's shirt, delighted when they too found flesh. Violently, Wilson's teeth nipped House's lip and they both tasted blood. House moaned, forcing Wilson's teeth apart to lavish his tongue as he used all of his weight to push Wilson against the desk. The heavy contact was too much, clothes were too much, and they paused, parting, to throw shirts aside and quickly undid belts, snapping jeans off and unbuttoning khakis, zippers down with a degree of care for the flesh underneath, and then shoving pants and underwear over straining cock, shimmying the last clothing down to two pairs of socked and shoed ankles.

House pushed his naked flesh against Wilson's again and Wilson felt the desk leaving an imprint on the back of his thighs as he moaned into House's mouth. He pushed back at House and both groaned as the contact made their erections bend against each other.

This time House's teeth found blood in Wilson's lip. He sucked on it and then Wilson's lips were pressing so hard against him that his teeth, chin, and nose were beginning to hurt.

They stopped, panting and flushed, and without speaking Wilson moved aside and House inched forward with his pants around his ankles until he was ready to bend over Wilson's desk. He pushed aside framed photos, papers, fountain pens, and files just carefully enough that they wouldn't crash to the floor and draw attention while Wilson tore open a condom and unrolled it on his index finger, thumbed open the lube, and readied himself.

House gripped both ends of Wilson's desk for support and bent over as best he could, trying to spread his legs. Wilson steadied him with his right hand and found House's opening with the other. He didn't need to ask.

House bit his bleeding lip to stay quiet because it hurt and it felt so good. He was sore. The dump he'd taken this morning had been cautious and a little painful, and this was too, he could feel the care Wilson was taking, but it also felt so good and so right.

Wilson didn't dally. He removed his finger, slipped a second one in the condom, applied more lube, and gently thrust the two in. He could feel the sensation ripple through House's body as House's muscles tightened and he made a tiny sound. Wilson worked his fingers in and out, not giving in to the desire to stroke House's prostate, and felt him relax and then tense slightly: the tension of pleasure. House was ready.

Wilson discarded the first condom and reached for a second.

"Bareback, Jimmy," House said and Wilson's hand stopped and shook as a shudder passed through him.

"I won't last," he said.

"Neither will I," House answered.

Wilson's head went fuzzy and when it cleared, he reached for the lube and slicked himself up.

House took one of the condoms, opened it, and unfurled it over his fingers. He felt Wilson pause: Wilson wanted to know why.

"I can come all over your desk if you want," House said.

He felt Wilson resume lubing and smirked. Setting the condom aside, he squeezed a line of lotion on his penis and spread it around with two fingers, not trusting himself to use his whole hand. He added more until he was satisfied, then slipped the condom over the head of his penis and a little way down the shaft. He was ready. The lube appeared on the desk again: Wilson was ready too. He gripped the desk. One had was too slippery and he quickly wiped the excess lotion on his chest, then grabbed the desk again, doing his best to spread his legs more.

Wilson's hand gently but firmly took his hip and he felt Wilson's dick find its place. Wilson's other hand took his other hip and before he could protest or prepare or do anything, Wilson was pushing into him. He tensed and Wilson stopped. Forcing himself to relax, he signaled with his muscles that he was ready. Wilson pushed in further. He tensed again. It was uncomfortable at first, and no matter how much he wanted to skip it and go straight to hard fucking, his body needed time. He relaxed again, feeling his muscles expand to accommodate Wilson's penis, and Wilson pushed again. This time he felt Wilson's hips against his butt before he felt any more discomfort. Oh God yes, Wilson was in and finally this was happening. Blood surged to his cock and his fingers whitened against the sides of Wilson's desk. He was going to be fucked to death and he couldn't wait for it happen.

Just as he was processing that thought, Wilson started moving inside him, pulling out and shoving in with a shallow, quick rhythm. Prelude. House bit his lip again not to moan too loudly and felt Wilson's grip tighten on his hips. Without warning, Wilson pulled far out and shoved in hard, and a moan escaped House's throat before he could stop himself. He bit his lip harder but his head was so clouded, he couldn't think, he was losing himself in the rhythm because Wilson was fucking him and he needed Wilson to be fucking him and it was so very good.

With each new shove, Wilson's dick rammed against his prostate, that little gland of pleasure. At first it was too much: he was too dazed by the overwhelming sensation in his head, his blood, his cock, and he thought he would collapse, pass out, explode, scream, anything. Slowly he became accustomed to it and he still felt like he would burst out of his skin but it wasn't too much any longer.

It hadn't been this good last night. Last night had been too intense and his body had been too confused to process everything. He'd been so overwhelmed that he'd asked Wilson to fuck him harder because the harder Wilson fucked him, the more it hurt and he understood pain, he could control pain. Last night he'd held pleasure and pain in balance and he'd been able to stop himself from coming too soon as a result. But now it didn't hurt. Jimmy was fucking him hard but not fast and he was opening himself to all of the pleasure this time.

Soon he had come down from the first heady rush of sex enough to hear Wilson's course pants. The squish of intercourse, Wilson's skin slapping against his, his knuckles white on Wilson's desk, the deep, animate smell of Wilson in this office, the intense pleasure of Wilson's dick sliding in and out, the peaks of dick to prostate, the crescendoing hum in his blood: all over his body, all over the atmosphere, he felt the build of orgasm and he didn't try to stop it.

He felt, too, that Wilson was starting to lose it because his thrusts had become frantic and needy, and his fingers were digging in to House's hips so deeply they would bruise. But before House could feel any of Wilson's pleasure, Wilson's left hand was wrapping around his cock and pumping. House couldn't hear anything any more, not himself, not Wilson, and he bent his head, squeezed his eyes shut, bit his lip even harder. He couldn't breathe any faster but he did, and the friction of Wilson's hand on his cock, even the friction of the condom as Wilson's thumb and forefinger stroked it in syncopation with his thrusts, and Wilson's dick so deep in his ass, none of them could go any faster or harder but oh God they were. They were.

The top of House's thigh where muscle was still intact started to burst with pain, his leg would fold under him any second now, but not before Wilson finished fucking him, not before he felt Wilson's cock jerk out semen, not before he felt his own orgasm crash over him. It was coming so good, so fast, so hard, it kept coming and coming, building higher and higher until he thought he couldn't take it, that he would have to come, but pain held it off just so and it built again and Wilson was fucking him so hard, so fast, but Wilson hadn't come either, and then suddenly Wilson switched to a new gear, an even higher gear, and House's orgasm swept over him before he realized it was happening, eyes squeezed shut, the huge, heavy load that had been accumulating all day and all night since Wilson had first jumped naked onto his kitchen counter leaving him in long, hard spurts, the hardest come he could remember, every tense moment, every thought, every word of his life pulsing out of him, he couldn't see, hear, feel, he was so deaf, blind, and dumb fucked.

The world stopped. Motion stopped. Breathing stopped.

Then he collapsed. It was over.

Dimly, he felt Wilson's orgasm rippling through him, all of his need pouring out, cock jerking inside House, and as far as he could feel anything, it felt wonderful. Wilson slumped onto him, panting, still buried deep.

House couldn't stand any longer. He felt himself slipping down the desk, the rubber sliding off his lotioned penis, and Wilson must have understood because he controlled the descent and House fell on him instead of the carpet, then rolled to the left, Wilson's dick still inside him as Wilson rolled also.

They lay still.

They breathed slowly.

Long moments passed.

Wilson turned on his back, his dick slipping out of House.

They couldn't speak.

They couldn't feel.

House's leg didn't hurt.

The carpet wasn't rough against their bare flesh.

Semen, lotion, and lubricant dried.

Sweat dried.

They were noiseless, unmoving.

They slept.


	11. Caught

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

This is a brief scene that the folks over at the housewilson live journal suggested.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Caught**

Mrs. Feldman's fist paused millimeters from Wilson's door. An emergency memo for his two o'clock meeting had just arrived and a package he'd been waiting for had appeared on her desk when she was in the bathroom. He'd want both of them immediately. But as she'd raised her hand to knock, she had heard an unmistakably sexual moan.

Well. This wasn't the first time and she knew it wouldn't be the last time, but it did offend her sense of decorum. Department heads shouldn't use their offices for lunch quickies. Someone else's office—she'd be fine with that—but not his office.

She knew he was on the cusp of divorcing his wife. She'd been the department head's secretary long enough to be well acquainted with the personal and professional lives of the department's rising stars. He seemed like a good man. She'd never seen him angry or abrupt. Patients loved him. The nurses loved him (and that was a real feat in her opinion). Everyone loved him. But the poor man couldn't make a relationship work.

He'd been spending more nights here, she knew. He wasn't one of those male chauvinists who thought secretaries were there not only to corral paperwork, patients, and colleagues, but also to run to the dry cleaners or pick up kids from soccer practice. His predecessor had been one of those and she'd contemplated quitting over it. But he wasn't one. No. She did see him leave with dry cleaning and return with fresh shirts. But unlike many doctors in the department, he didn't keep clean shirts in his office for times when patients accidentally forced him to change his clothing. She knew he was lonelier than he'd admit.

But at the same time, she didn't like it when he picked up someone for a quick affair. Normally, that was none of her business. But it became her business when she had something he needed to see and she could hear him using his office to consummate that affair. It wasn't professional.

She was seconds from knocking on the door and interrupting them out of spite when she heard another moan: "Ohhhh, Jimmy." But that wasn't a woman's voice. Women didn't call him Jimmy. She only knew one person who called him that and…

Smiling, she unballed her fist. She knew she should go back to her desk, but she lingered for a moment.

The rumors about them had always been rumors and nothing else. She of all people would know. Dr. Wilson cared deeply for Dr. House, but there was no sexual relationship. She kept quiet every time the rumor circled back to her desk. She smiled knowingly and said nothing. People would believe what they wanted to believe. But honestly, she never thought it would actually happen. She knew Dr. House's history as well as she knew Dr. Wilson's and it was clear to her that Dr. House would die before pursuing another romantic relationship. She didn't think he had it in him.

So she smiled now. This made sense. It was cute, in fact. She didn't understand why Dr. Wilson put up with him sometimes, but it seemed to make him happy. He was such a kind man. He deserved to be happy.

Mrs. Feldman returned to her desk. Until she saw Dr. Wilson or Dr. House, Dr. Wilson would not be taking any calls or visitors.


	12. Trouble in Paradise

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

Thanks very much to those of you who have taken the time to review this piece. I really appreciate your comments. They keep me writing!

* * *

**Chapter 12: Trouble in Paradise**

House woke first, twenty minutes later, to an angry leg. He was cold, tired, and sticky, and he could've gone back to sleep if his leg hadn't been screaming at him. But as it was, he really needed a Vicodin.

He'd barely thought about it all morning—Wilson had been too much with him—and in his steady state of low arousal that even annoying clinic patients couldn't completely banish, he must not have been popping the usual pill or two he needed to get through a few hours in the clinic. He'd kept off his feet—most clinic patients didn't really need an exam—and it just hadn't bothered him. And since the annoying clinic patients hadn't bothered him enough that the buzz of sexual arousal had ceased entirely, he had those endorphins streaming through him and…well, he hadn't really noticed it.

But now he was lying on his side and he was fairly certain he'd strained something. The rest of his body felt great. Relaxed, happy, kind of hungry and thirsty, but good all around. His leg, on the other hand, felt like two days of forced bed rest. And it would be totally worth it if he could just find his jacket. If he could move at all. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to jump Wilson before they'd had lunch.

He could hear Wilson snoring behind him and he wondered briefly if he'd remembered to lock the door…he…oh…crap.

"Wilson," he said.

Even his voice was wincing. God. He was in trouble.

He twisted his body to the left, right hand finding purchase on the carpet, and tried to push himself up. He managed to get on his stomach, grunting as his right knee made contact with the floor, but even he knew he wasn't going to get to his feet by himself.

"Wilson," he said, more loudly this time, holding his half push up position.

Now that he could see Wilson, he could see how deeply asleep Wilson was. If he'd had more time, he would've really enjoyed the view of his naked lover asleep, how boyish and blissful and silly he looked with his pants and underwear still around his ankles and his shoes on, how much he still wanted to do things to every inch of that body. But he was in a precarious position. Trying to balance his weight on his left knee and right hand, he reached over to shake Wilson's shoulder.

"Hey, stupid, get up," he said, taking his hand back immediately. He needed it to keep himself upright.

Wilson mumbled something and snored on.

No, this was not good. They'd had the kind of sex where neither partner moved for an hour afterward. He was shaky with sex. He hadn't been shaky from sex in a long time. It felt good, but now wasn't the best time: unlocked door, aching leg, hungry body. His biceps quivered.

He could manage one more good shake before he was down for the count and he'd have to resort to yelling. He could see his jacket. It was several feet away on the couch. Damn.

Pooling all of his energy, he redistributed his weight, and shoved Wilson hard.

"Wake up!"

Wilson snorted and mercifully came to.

"What?" He could feel carpet burn on his back and ass, his tail bone hurt, and House was…doing push ups? "House?"

"Lock the door," House said.

No, House wasn't doing push ups. His muscles were taut and straining.

"Are you—"

"Lock the door quick before someone comes in," House said, head bowed between his shoulders.

Wilson could hear the strain of his muscles in his voice, but he got up quickly, pulling his pants and underwear up, and locked the door.

Before he could decide what to do or say, House spoke.

"Need my pills," he said. "Jacket."

As Wilson rifled through House's jacket, House slumped forward with a grunt, favoring his right side, forehead going to the floor, ending up in a pitiful heap.

Wilson left the pill bottle in its pocket, going to House instead and wrapping his arms around House's chest. House didn't argue, pushing off from the floor after Wilson paused to let him get his hands in place. Wilson lifted to the left, frowning inwardly when he didn't feel House putting any pressure on his right side. Wilson staggered, not expecting so much weight, while House grasped frantically at Wilson's desk. Wilson pushed his body into House's as best he could, trying to propel them both closer to the desk. House's hand found the desk top and Wilson's right knee found House's butt as he too grabbed at the desk. House grunted, but somehow it worked. Wilson pushed him just a little more and both of them were on their feet.

House grabbed the desk with both hands, right foot barely touching the floor, and swayed dangerously. Wilson took just enough time to get his feet back under him and quickly pull House's briefs and jeans up and out of the way before he put House's right arm over his shoulders and helped him limp to the couch. House tugged at his jeans and Wilson took the hint, holding him up while he arranged his clothing.

House signaled that he was done and Wilson helped him sit. His hands went immediately for his jacket and he dug out the bottle, popped it open, and knocked two pills into his mouth so quickly that Wilson was actually surprised. He said nothing, though, fastening his pants instead and gathering their shirts from the floor.

He handed House's to him and put his own shirt on, dropping himself heavily on the couch near House before he started buttoning it too. House had titled his head back and closed his eyes, shirt balled in his lap, so Wilson concentrated hard on each button, trying to give him space to collect himself.

Wilson unfastened his pants, tucked his shirt in, and sat quietly, still tired and sated, surveying the wreckage. Condom wrappers on the floor. One condom on the floor, one on his desk. The bottle of lubricant. His office did smell heavily of sex.

He was beginning to about how badly he'd hurt House when House finally spoke.

"That was stupid," he said.

Wilson glanced over at him. Head still tilted back, eyes still closed.

"Can't believe I didn't lock the door," House said.

He sounded calm and normal, his voice rough and gravelly. But Wilson could see his face. Wilson had felt the strain in his body. He wasn't okay. He was putting on a show.

"Are you okay?" he asked. He hadn't meant to, but he couldn't help himself.

"What does it look like?" House said. His tone wasn't as sarcastic as it would've normally been. He clearly wasn't okay enough to pull that off.

"I'll get you some ice," Wilson said. He started to get up but House's hand on his thigh stopped him.

"I'm hungry," House said. "Are you hungry?"

But the wasted, pained voice he said it in and the way he hadn't opened his eyes, head tilted back still—no, this was not good. In the dim light of his office, Wilson could see goose bumps on House's arm. He was shivering slightly. Though whether he was cold or just in pain…

"Tell me," Wilson said, trying not to sound too beseeching, "do you need something stronger?"

House swallowed. "Give these a second to kick in, will ya, Jimmy?" he joked weakly.

No, that wasn't House. Right now House sounded like one of his patients, laughing to keep from crying, inches away from screaming his throat raw.

"I need you to talk to me, House," Wilson said. "Just muscles or nerves too?"

He really wished House would look at him. Watching his bare chest rise and fall a little too quickly, his mouth open, eyes closed—Wilson didn't like what it reminded him of.

"You know how I like my Reubens," House said. "A bag of plain Lays and a Coke too."

_You son of a—_ Wilson kept his mouth closed, remembering that House didn't like silence during a fight. He didn't trust himself to stay civil either.

Sure enough, after a long wait, House mumbled, "I don't want to talk about this."

"You have to," Wilson replied, calmer now. "You don't have a choice."

House was silent for another long period of time. Wilson couldn't stand it and House's shaking had intensified, so he got to his feet, head still fuzzy and body still tired, and went to the bottom left drawer of his desk. He retrieved an undershirt from that drawer and a blanket from his bottom right drawer.

House felt a small ball of fabric hit his chest.

"Put this on."

House cracked an eye. One of Wilson's undershirts. No thanks. He didn't feel like moving.

"Put it on or you get the blanket," Wilson said in a steely voice.

House heard static electricity snap in the air before he forced his arms to move, mumbling "all right, all right."

Wilson watched him, so angry that House wouldn't swallow his pride long enough to let anyone help him and so hurt that he'd caused his lover pain…. He wanted to snap. He needed to snap.

Instead, he made himself speak calmly again. House responded to reason sometimes, he reminded himself.

"If you take a muscle relaxant now and ice it, you might be able to walk out of here in a few hours," he said. "But if nerves are involved…" He sighed. "I'll only say it one more time. I need to know."

"One chemical dependence at a time," House muttered.

"If you need it, then you need it," Wilson said. "It's not a problem if you need it. And I can tell you need it." He shifted his weight angrily. "Tell me."

"Bring food back first," House said.

"House…"

"You're such a bitch, Jimmy," House mumbled. He sighed angrily. "Just muscles," he muttered.

"There," Wilson said, unable to keep spite out of his voice, "that wasn't so bad."

Instantly regretting the tone he'd taken, he moved House's jacket and arranged a pillow.

"Want to lie down?" he offered.

"Go get the food," House said.

When he didn't hear Wilson leaving to do his bidding, House cracked an eye open again. "I'm fine," he said.

Wilson narrowed his eyes and set his jaw.

House looked him over quickly. "Don't forget your lab coat," he said. "You're all wrinkly."

Wilson glanced down at himself. House was right. He went to the coat rack and shrugged his lab coat on. He picked up the condom wrappers and condoms, putting them in his desk, and stuffed the lube and lotion into his pants pocket.

House observed through one eye. "You're lucky I don't wear lipstick," he said. "You'd be a marked man right now."

Wilson wasn't amused. Office in more presentable shape, he was ready to face the world again. And as was often the case, facing the world was much easier than facing House. He knew he couldn't let House get away with this kind of behavior. They wouldn't work if this was how he was going to act. But he didn't want to fight on their second day together. He started for the door, then stopped abruptly, thinking about it for a moment more before he huffed, hands going to his hips, and said, "You're ridiculous."

House rolled his one cracked eye. Wilson was in a mood. Great. "I'm _hungry_," he responded.

Wilson stood still again, thinking about what he'd say. He had to say something. Finally, he spoke: "We're going to talk about this later."

Wilson looked like an angry hen. Retorts sprang to House's lips. Instead, he closed his eyes and said, "I'm hungry, Jimmy."

Wilson lingered a minute more, making sure House got his point, then unlocked the door and, with every ounce of his self-restraint, just barely stopped himself from slamming it.


	13. Wilson's Little Helper

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

Sorry for the delay! Got distracted by another fic. New, longer, and meatier chapter of this tomorrow. :)

* * *

**13: Wilson's Little Helper**

Wilson fed House without losing any limbs, taking his own lunch to his desk. He tried hard not to think about how he'd had House bending over it, begging to be fucked less than an hour ago. His office had smelled noticeably of latex, sweat, and semen when he'd returned with lunch and a fix for House's leg. He reminded himself to crack a window later, and not to forget to discard the two used condoms and wrappers in his desk drawer.

For some reason, Chase, Cameron, and Foreman hadn't questioned him when he'd gone into House's office for the portable television, saying House wasn't feeling well and was lying down on his couch for a while. If House so blatantly told Cuddy they were having sex…what did he tell his employees? Well, whatever the case, House was happy with his soap and dry Reuben and Wilson was happy pretending to read a journal with a tuna on wheat. Felt just like marriage.

House scoffed appropriately at the drug Wilson chose.

"Wilson's little helper?" he said, but he didn't argue, pulling his pants down to expose his right hip.

Wilson had set his teeth even tighter because House was right. Ten milligrams of diazepam IM on top of two Vicodin, lunch, and mind-blowing sex—there was no way House wouldn't either fall asleep or stare quietly at the wall for a few hours.

"I take it you're going to pay for my rehab," House said when Wilson stuck a band-aid on him and left to deposit the syringe in a medical waste box.

Of course House was right again. House was always right. This drug _was_ very addictive, especially if it was injected. But it was also indicated for relieving and preventing muscle spasms, and it was sure to shut House up. For a little while at least.

Wilson paused outside his office. He still had almost an hour to wait before his meeting started. He had plenty of work to do, but almost all of it was in his office. After the infarction, he'd spent plenty of time sitting with House: he was now adept at tuning out bad television and House's snotty comments on it. But they needed to talk—soon, but not now. Right now, he needed some space. But House, damn him, was in his space.

If House would just _accept_ his limitations and understand how hard it was for someone to stand by and watch him suffer without doing _something_… He was a stubborn idiot. Wilson had figured that one out pretty quickly when he first met House. But now… Now he felt House in his blood in a way that he never had before. He'd always loved him as a friend. But now he was thinking how nice it would be to go home to him every day and kiss him at night and watch him just be himself. His stupid, stubborn, wonderful self.

But he also wondered if he'd be able to survive House. He'd managed so far by keeping a degree of distance. He could always go home to a wife or a girlfriend or back to his office to sulk. But now… Funny. He found himself thinking that phrase over and over again. Everything was different now. Everything had changed.

Unable to linger any longer, he turned the handle, deciding he'd face whatever was there for him to face.

He was pleased with what he saw. House had lain down on the couch and was breathing quietly and evenly, right hand on his stomach and his head turned just slightly to the left. They didn't have to do this now. He was so relieved.

He sat down and tried to concentrate on the new memo, charting, tying up any loose ends the week had left him with, checking next week's schedule—anything that was part of his normal Friday afternoon routine, anything to keep himself from thinking about the man slumbering eight feet from him. Anything.

He was relieved again when it was time to go to the meeting. Watching House sleep was too intimate for him to handle right now. Gratefully, he closed the office door behind him.


	14. Reconciliation

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

**Chapter 14: Reconciliation **

Meeting over, patients, staff, and floor tucked in for the weekend, Wilson paused again outside his office. He was done for the day here. Any work he had now could be taken home. But whose home was he going to tonight?

He'd been unable to keep his thoughts far from House despite his best efforts. He knew what he wanted (to end this fight and go back to yesterday's happiness), he knew the terms he would and wouldn't accept to end this fight (House had to acknowledge that he'd been too…anything; if House acknowledged any wrongdoing at all…yes, that would be enough), and he knew what he would say (or thought he knew), but House was always a rogue. Always unpredictable. And though House had said he wanted this, though he'd committed to getting tested yesterday and to a tentative living agreement, though he'd brought up keeping their new relationship quiet at work, though he'd given Wilson all of these indications that he meant this to be a long-term relationship…Wilson wasn't so sure House wouldn't wake up one day and take it all back. He wasn't so sure House wouldn't wake up now, if he wasn't already awake, and take it all back. The prospect frightened Wilson. It angered him. It saddened him. He realized that it would take him a long time to get back to normal if House dropped him now. There was no way around it: House had him by the marrow of his bones. He was in so much trouble.

He sighed and shook his head. This had been a bad idea from the beginning. Whatever happened…would be whatever happened. No one could change House's mind but House and if House had changed his mind…Wilson didn't know what he would do. He didn't want to think about it. But he couldn't stand putting this off any longer and House should be awake or almost awake by now.

He placed his hand on the door handle and slowly turned it. He hated fighting with House. He absolutely hated it.

"Dr. Wilson?"

He started.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Feldman said. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay, Nancy," Wilson responded, turning to her and hoping the strain didn't show on his face.

"The proofs for your article on osteocarcoma came in this afternoon," she said, offering him an envelope from the American Journal for Clinical Oncology. "They were misrouted by the mail room. I thought you might want them for the weekend."

"Yes," Wilson said, taking the envelope, "thanks very much."

"Staying late today?" she asked.

"I was just on my way out, actually," Wilson said.

Mrs. Feldman smiled. "Say hello to Dr. House for me," she said, and knowing she'd just shocked her employer, turned gracefully back toward her desk.

Wilson's mouth fell open as he watched her retreat. She knew? How did she know?

He knew the answer to that right away. If anyone was going to overhear him having an office liaison, it was her. But that smile and the just barely playful tone in which she'd said it… He grinned to himself. She approved. Well. If anyone around him was going to know, he was glad it was her—and really glad she approved. She was an important ally to have.

Though whether this relationship would still be around to have friends and enemies once Monday morning came…

Dammit, House. Always making things more difficult than they were.

His stomach started to tighten again like it had been doing off and on all afternoon. He turned the door handle before it could mutate into indigestion. It was his office after all. He could do this.

Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him. The office was still dim. House was still stretched out on the couch. Some horrible talk show was on the portable television.

Quietly, he went round to see if House was awake or not.

Eyes closed. Relaxed. Hand still on his stomach, his head still turned to the left just so. He hadn't moved. And the James Dean white t-shirt and jeans still looked so good on him… He put the thought out of his mind.

Wilson had just turned to sneak quietly to his desk to sit and let House wake up naturally when House blinked slowly and looked up at him.

Wilson looked back, keeping his face neutral. He'd agreed with himself that he wouldn't make the first move. He needed to know where House stood.

House blinked heavily again and brought his hand up to rub his face.

"You sure that was only ten milligrams?" he said in a sleepy voice.

Wilson frowned a little, one eyebrow sinking. He wouldn't say the words. No 'are you okay' this time.

House shook his head, trying to clear it, and pushed himself up. He moved his leg to the ground, the other joining it, and sat still for a moment, yawning.

"Whatever it was," he said, eyes on the floor…slowly he looked up at Wilson, "thanks. I feel better."

Wilson inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. House was going to have to do this. He'd made it into a fight and if he cared about making this relationship work, he would fix it.

Laughter broke out on the television and House glanced at it. His eyes bugged. "It's past four?" he said.

Wilson nodded. "Nearly five."

House shook his head with an exaggerated expression. "How much _did_ you give me?" he asked.

Wilson said nothing, face still neutral. He tossed the envelope on his desk and crossed his arms.

House's eyes searched his and after a long moment, he sighed, posture slackening. "Okay," he said. "We need to talk. I know."

Wilson nodded slightly, lips pursed. He wasn't going to give any of this away. House had to want it. He had to earn it.

House looked around for his cane and found it on the floor next to the couch. "I need to pee first," he said. "Then we'll talk."

Wilson inclined his head again. Usually 'I need to pee' was House-speak for 'I'm up to something,' but he'd been in here since noon. It would be strange if he didn't need to pee. And if it really was an excuse…well, Wilson told himself, he'd have to accept that.

House got up and tried his leg out. Wilson sensed him pausing, thinking, deciding.

"It's good," House said, not meeting Wilson's eyes but with his head tilted toward Wilson: House's normal 'thank you' posture.

Wilson was silent still and House let himself out.

Wilson stood in the same place, four feet from the door, until House came back. He found it telling that House didn't knock first. Not that House normally knocked, but if he'd knocked now… Wilson wasn't sure what that would've meant, but he knew that House still considered this office a space they shared when he didn't stop to knock and he found that comforting.

House reacted with surprise at seeing Wilson in the same spot.

"Whoa."

_Yes_, Wilson conveyed with his posture and expression, _whoa. I'm that serious_.

House closed the door and leaned on his cane, two feet from Wilson. Good, Wilson thought. House didn't expect to get the privileges he'd had back immediately. Like access to Wilson's personal space.

House studied Wilson's expression for a moment, then took a deep breath.

"Look…" he began, "I'm a jerk."

He searched Wilson's face, hoping he could get off with just that.

Wilson was as stony as he had been before House went to the bathroom.

Unable to maintain eye contact while he apologized, House looked down. "I'm sorry I was a jerk to you," he said. "I shouldn't have been." Now he looked up at Wilson again: he'd apologized and he could regain the control he'd just lost. "But I can't promise this won't happen again. You know me. You know it will."

Wilson nodded, pleased that House had come right out and said it without any verbal provocation, but not willing to let House off the hook yet.

"I know," Wilson said. "But what I don't know is how hard you're willing to try to keep it from happening again."

House sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know," he said. He was silent, still shaking his head, eyes on the floor, for a moment. He glanced up again when he was ready to speak. "I want you to come home with me tonight," he said. "I don't want you to be upset. I want to do what I have to do to make that happen…but I don't know what that is."

Wilson studied him. He was sincere. He might even be hurting a little, doubting a little, worrying a little. Good. He needed to understand that a relationship was a two way street.

After making him sweat for a while, Wilson spoke: "Okay."

He could see House trying to keep emotion off of his face.

"We're okay?" House asked, his voice just tentative enough that Wilson knew he really did have something at stake now. Something more than just sex. Or so Wilson hoped. House could manipulate anyone. But he had to trust House if this was going to work, so he took a deep breath and plunged into the deep end.

"Yes. We're okay."

House smiled a little. Wilson fought hard not to smile back. He couldn't give up the ground he'd gained just yet.

On not receiving a return smile, House became more uneasy. He thrust a thumb behind him. "I'm going to go check out for the weekend," he said. "Are you…" He stopped, unsure of himself. "Um…that is…" He scratched the back of his head. "When…do you want to go home?"

Immediately, Wilson felt strong senses of triumph and regret. He knew what House was really asking. Not 'when do you want to go home?' but '_do_ you want to go home?' He'd forced House's underlying fear of rejection to the surface—damn, he hadn't meant to. He wasn't rejecting House, not at all, he'd just wanted House to squirm a little. He didn't want to see the slight wince on House's face as if he were expecting a blow.

"I'm done here," he said, not sure how to reassure House without giving back all the power he'd just gained, "so whenever you're done…" Now it was his turn to squirm and trip over words. "Do you, ah, want to…ride together?"

"Yes," House said, "if that's okay." He looked down. "I shouldn't be driving…"

Wilson was confused for a moment before he realized what House was looking down at. His leg. Dammit. Of course he couldn't drive right now. Not with his leg hurting, not after four hours of chemically-induced sleep. He cursed again to himself. House's insensitivity shouldn't be contagious.

"Okay," he said, cracking a tentative smile now. "I'll go downstairs and get you some Flexeril and we'll go when you're ready."

House gave him a semi-questioning look and Wilson did his best to leer.

"I want you limber this weekend," he said. It wasn't seductive—it was totally unconvincing and bad—but House gave him a small, meaningful smile in return.

"I'd better go check on the kids before you pin me against the desk again," he said. He too sounded unconvincing, but Wilson was happier with that response than he would've been if House had tried to turn the sex up to eleven again.

"Wouldn't want that," Wilson said awkwardly with an equally awkward nod and smile.

House also nodded awkwardly—why had they suddenly become thirteen?—and gave Wilson another little smile before he left.

Wilson leaned against the desk and let out a small laugh with a real smile. He was in love again.


	15. Changes

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

I'm sorry this is so short. I'm going through some stuff that makes it difficult to write anything at all (not that that's a good excuse). I hope I'll have more of this for you soon!

* * *

**Chapter 15: Changes**

The ride home was, in a word, awkward.

Wilson had tossed House a bottle of pills when he'd emerged from the fourth floor and they'd gone to Wilson's car in silence. They rode for six long city blocks and stopped at two red lights before one of them finally said something.

"So you really saw twenty-four patients in three hours this morning?" Wilson asked.

House smiled, eyes trained on the floor mat. He'd been unsure of what to do or say since he'd apologized. First he'd resented Wilson for having him by the balls and making him apologize in the first place. Then, when he'd gone to sign out with the kids and saw three varying degrees of concern on their faces, resentment turned to withdrawal and he'd retreated to the men's bathroom for a few quiet moments away from looks and questions. What a strange two days. His ass and leg hurt from outrageously hot sex, he'd been painfully honest with his best-friend-turned-lover not ten minutes ago, and he had two overwhelming, conflicting impulses: to dash down the stairs, leg be damned, and jump Wilson for the make-up sex he was due, and to slip out the back door, move to another town, and change his name. Yesterday had shown him just how good this could be; today had shown him just how bad. Instinct told him to run screaming. Both of his heads said otherwise. He'd done what he usually did in a situation like this: he'd swallowed a Vicodin and gone downstairs to meet Wilson. So what if Wilson wasn't the just guy he told all of his schemes and theories to any longer. He could handle that.

Or he thought he could handle it. He'd been nervous getting into the car, actual butterflies zipping around his gut, and he'd found it easiest to look at the floor mat while Wilson drove. But now Wilson was saying the right thing like he almost always did and House was smiling, because this, he remembered, _this_ was why he was in the car in the first place: Wilson was here. Dimly, he recognized this feeling. He remembered this feeling. This feeling was associated with a particular face—eyes, lips, skin—and smells, sounds, her presence, her voice, the tightness in his chest that accompanied dreams about her, years of being alone at night and drugs and pills and his fingers on piano keys: so much absence, so much memory. But now something was squirming inside him in the best way possible. He wondered if Wilson had an inkling of the trouble he was causing. None of this kept him from smiling the cute, shy smile of new love—even if he wanted to curse Wilson for making him feel again.

"Yeah," he said. He glanced up at Wilson, asking silently, _how'd you know that?_

"Cuddy saw me loitering," Wilson said. "Just so you know," he added with syrupy, overdone concern, "she's really, really worried about you. She's not sure if you're acting out depression, anger, or happiness, but her money is on depression."

He tried to keep a straight face, very concerned, very genuinely worried, but he couldn't help himself: a grin broke out on his face and he started laughing.

House laughed too. "Of course I'm depressed," he said. "No mentally sound individual would go near the clinic."

"Hey!" Wilson said with mock affront. "Watch it."

House kept laughing. It felt good to laugh.

"She asked me to keep an eye on you this weekend," Wilson said.

House shook his head, still grinning. "So she has no idea?"

Wilson grinned. "Not a clue."

"Wow," House said, "I'm almost disappointed in her."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "It's easy to think something's up when you're suddenly doing a job you've been kicking and screaming about doing for years."

House shrugged. "I just needed the right motivation."

"The right motivation," Wilson said, eyebrow jumping as he glanced at House.

House made a hand motion. "Chafing. He's not used to all this action."

Wilson shrugged. "We can always stop having sex," he said lightly, "but to be fair, _you_ paged _me_."

House did hit him. "You're the one who keeps dancing naked in my head," he said. "It's all your fault."

Wilson licked his finger and touched his chest with a sizzling hiss.

House took that as his cue to let his left hand wander toward Wilson's lap.

"Hey," Wilson said as House cupped his crotch, "not while I'm driving."

"Rules, rules, rules," House said, beginning to rub and exert pressure, "where's your sense of adventure?"

"Exactly where your sense of not getting us killed is," Wilson said with a gulp. "Patience, House." He was beginning to squirm. "Just a few more blocks."

House stopped fondling him but didn't remove his hand. "When was the last time you did it in a car?" he asked.

"I dunno," Wilson said, trying to remain nonchalant, "High school?"

House clamped down on his crotch. "Wrong," he said. "You told me you did your second wife in the limo when you got stuck in traffic."

Wilson struggled for air. "How is this punishment?" he asked.

"It's not," House said, easing his hold. "If you'd just go with it, have fun…" He started untucking Wilson's shirt.

"House. Really. It's just a few blocks," Wilson said tightly, wanting to enjoy House's hand on his body but also wanting to arrive at House's apartment alive.

House relented and began digging in to Wilson's lower back instead of teasing the line of hair that led down his stomach to his crotch.

"You know what we need?" House asked when they stopped at the last red light between the hospital and House's apartment.

He waited until Wilson looked over.

"A honeymoon."

Wilson laughed. "Trouble begins after the honeymoon," he said. "Bad idea." He glanced over at House, but House wasn't smiling. "Besides, if we both took time off, it would seem awfully suspicious."

House pouted, taking his hand back. "Spoil sport."

"We've got the weekend," Wilson said. He glanced over again, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "You're not the only one who had trouble keeping his hands out of his pants today."

"Mmm," House murmured, rubbing his own crotch now. "Good thing we're here."

Wilson lowered his head seductively. "I hate it when you make me choose between food and sex," he said. "Inside. Now."

"Not an exhibitionist?" House asked, eyebrow raised. "That's not what I heard."

Wilson unbuckled his seat belt and grasped the door handled. "My secretary already knows about us," he said. "One thing at a time." He opened the door and stuck a foot out. "Come on," he said over his shoulder when he didn't hear House opening the passenger door. "I'm ready for some meat."

House didn't expect the collective backflip his blood cells did at the line. Suddenly Wilson's tumultuous but prolific love life made so much more sense. How did he make such a cheesy phrase work so well? House shook his head.

Once his spine settled back into place, he opened the door and followed Wilson inside.


	16. Meat

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

I wanted this to be a two-scene chapter that took you where you want to go, but alas, only the first scene is ready. :ducks flames:

* * *

**Chapter 16: Meat**

Wilson was unlocking the door with his key when House caught up with him.

"Go right in," House said sarcastically.

Wilson shot him an amused-but-not-amused expression and let himself in. House followed and caught him when he closed the door, pulling him into a rough kiss. Wilson recovered and melted into him, letting House shove him against the wall. House's cane clattered to the floor and their arms tangled, each over-eager, grunting and growling. Wilson's hands began working on buttons they'd undone at lunch and his head thumped against the wall before he knew what was happening, giving House easier access to his neck.

"You wanna do this now?" Wilson asked as his hands slid down House's bare back and over his pants to squeeze his ass.

"Can't we make out in peace?" House asked between serious sucks on Wilson's neck.

"I'm hungry," Wilson said, unbuckling House's belt and sliding his hands into House's underwear to cup his bare butt.

House slid a hand down to Wilson's crotch. "You're horny," he pointed out, barely pausing to let Wilson's flesh slip from between his lips before he spoke.

"Mmm." It was getting harder to breathe and much harder to think, but Wilson tried. "You stop now…" he began, sucking in surprised breaths every time House hit a sensitive point, "…and I'll make us that steak…and we'll have lots of energy for later…but if you keep going…it'll be pizza…"

House paused and glanced up. "On one condition," he said, his hands diving into Wilson's underwear and squeezing Wilson's ass like Wilson had been squeezing his.

"What's that?" Wilson asked, running his hands up House's sides to his pecks.

House squeezed hard, his eyes showing danger and delight at Wilson's inability to conceal a reaction. "Do it naked."

Wilson tried to keep the thrill that sliced through him off of his face, but he saw House catch it. "Like what you see, don't you?" he choked, digging his thumbs into House's nipples.

The corner of House's mouth twisted into the briefest of smiles before he shoved against Wilson and pulled Wilson's hips into his in the same movement. He held them together, arms straining, and poured aggression and territoriality into Wilson's eyes for a long moment, asserting his dominance. He shifted his grip to slip a finger into the crack of Wilson's ass and teased. They both knew that unless Wilson said something now, he was going to be deflowered tonight. Wilson stared right back at House, not saying a word, aggressive but also yielding: it was up to House to let him go right now.

House pushed against him again using the little leverage he had left, squeezed his ass almost too hard, and let him go.

_Caveman_, Wilson communicated with his eyes.

_You like it_, House sent back.

_Touché_.

House held his eye, challenging him.

_Now?_ Wilson asked.

House glanced from Wilson's shirt back to his face. _If you don't do it now, I'll do it for you_.

Wilson's eyebrows went up, inviting House to go for it if he were man enough.

House raked appraising eyes over him. "You've got to work on those mixed signals, Jimmy," he said. He took a step back, produced his Vicodin bottle, and smirked.

"You're so bad for my control," Wilson said, half of him wanting badly to jump House right now. The other half of him wanted food and drink and until now, it had been winning the primal urges battle. House wanted him to cook naked…_that_ was a mixed signal.

House merely shrugged, tossing a pill into his mouth. He wasn't moving, waiting for Wilson to strip.

Wilson's eyebrows leapt again, this time in disbelief.

House sucked on the pill and waited.

Wilson stared back at him: _you can't be serious. Now? Really? You can't be serious_.

House smirked again, tonguing the pill as seductively as one could tongue a pill, flicking it back and forth between his back teeth, taking a great deal of pleasure in the slurping noises he was making and their effect on an increasingly-harried Wilson. If his hair could stand on end, House mused, it would stand on end right now.

Finally, Wilson laughed a little, shook his head, and began unbuttoning his shirt. House was crazy. Really, really crazy. Insanity shouldn't be this much of a turn-on. The part of his brain that had been chanting about steak for half an hour was being steadily drained of blood by the reptilian forebrain that always put sex before food and had control of blood flow right now. And the things he was doing with that pill…

Wilson let the shirt fall to the floor, not taking his eyes off of House. He slipped out of his shoes, unbuckled, -buttoned, and –zipped his pants, and stepped out of them. That left him in boxers and the undershirt he'd put on this afternoon because he just wasn't comfortable without one.

"Compromise?" he asked, gesturing to the clothes he still had on. "It's cold in here."

House slowly appraised him, still sucking on the pill, and smirked once more. Despite the fact that his shirt and pants were open, his own half-hard cock poking shyly above the undone zipper of his jeans and his face and chest flushed red, he managed to exude calmness, control, and authority.

"I _do_ need something to tear off later," he said.

Wilson's lips began to curl upward. If House was going to be this intense all weekend… He shivered involuntarily, thoughts of steak fleeing even farther.

House shifted his weight to move and winced. Damn leg. Damn spoil-the-moment leg.

But instead of registering concern, Wilson's expression turned seductive. "If I'm going to cook," he began, "I get to make a request."

"What's that?" House hissed, cursing his leg in three languages.

"I want to see you in the bathtub again," he said.

House managed to cock an eyebrow. "Got a thing for water?"

"Got a thing for you and water."

He reached out to brush a thumb over House's scruffy cheek. "You promised me something, too," he said.

House narrowed his eyes, the twitch of pain having receded for the moment, and caught Wilson's hand. "You're a good Jew," he said. "Familiar with the Old Testament. You know what happened to Samson."

He swallowed the sliver of pill and ran his tongue over Wilson's thumb. Wilson reacted the same way he had last night, like a dog thumping its leg against the floor when its master found that special spot. House grinned inwardly at the way Wilson's eyes rolled back in his head when he closed his lips around the younger man's thumb. Wilson and fingers. He was going to remember this one.

"Don't think you're going to lose your powers," Wilson choked out.

House swished his tongue over Wilson's thumb and let go of his hand. The gaze Wilson caught when he opened his eyes was positively sinister.

"I shave this," House said, scratching his chin, "and you shave your balls."

Wilson recoiled. "Harsh," he said.

House shrugged. "If you don't want me to go down on you…"

Wilson cringed. House really had him in a bind. "Okay," he acquiesced. "Food first, though."

House was relaxed now, and happy to toy with Wilson. His left hand traveled down to his underwear and disappeared. "I know another good source of protein."

"House," Wilson whined. "Real food." He took a chance, bending to retrieve House's cane, and was both pleased and a little disappointed when House didn't take advantage of the change in position. But maybe House was hungry too.

"Had enough foreplay?" Wilson asked coyly as he passed the cane to House.

"Why?" House asked. "Are you ready to feed me now?"

Wilson shook his head, grinning at how incorrigible House was, and stepped over the pile of his own clothes toward the kitchen. He turned lights on as he went, wondering idly if House came home sometimes and let it get dark before he turned on any lamps.

"Want a potato?" he called over his shoulder, deliberately not looking back at House. No more distractions until he'd eaten, his stomach told him.

"Too many questions," he heard House call from the living room.

By the time he had the steak thawing in the sink and had found all of the utensils he'd need, verified the existence of House's grill, and started a fire for the steak, the sound of running water had stopped in the bathroom.

"Wilson," he heard House call through the door as he wrapped the second potato in foil. "C'mere."

"What?" he called back.

"C'mere."

"Kinda busy."

"No, you're not."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Food doesn't cook itself, you know."

"C'mere."

Wilson sighed and rolled his eyes again. House was such a pain. He checked the oven again to make sure it was still preheating—he didn't trust House's appliances—and padded toward the bathroom.

"What?" he asked in his most exasperated tone as he pushed the door open.

Predictably, House splashed him. And most of the bathroom.

Wilson wiped water from his face. "I saw that coming," he said. House had gotten him pretty well: hair to knees, his front side was wet in patches.

"Then why didn't you duck?" House asked through chortles.

"I don't know," Wilson said, rolling his eyes, "maybe I trusted you?" He squeezed the tail of his shirt. "Big mistake."

House laughed even harder. "You look like a wet cat," he said.

"Wish I had claws," Wilson mumbled, grabbing House's shaving cream and razor and throwing them in the tub.

"Oww!" House complained, "that hurt." He rubbed his shin.

"Do you have a mirror?" Wilson asked, pawing through the cabinet under the sink.

"No," House said and splashed him again, this time wetting his right side and part of his back.

Wilson was still for a moment, gathering himself. If he'd actually been angry, he would have risen up to smite House. Instead, he sat back on his haunches, pushed his dripping hair aside, and pulled out the mirror he'd just found.

"Yes," he said dryly, "you do." He tossed the mirror in the bathwater.

Before House could splash him again, Wilson was out the door.

"Buzzkill!" he heard House call.

"Child!" he called back.

He stopped in the bedroom to trade his wet clothes for one of House's favorite t-shirts and a pair of his boxer briefs. House wouldn't splash this shirt. He heard water running again and toweled his hair with the dry part of his undershirt. He tossed his wet clothes in what passed for House's laundry pile and went to put the steak on the fire and the potatoes in the oven.

He stepped in water as he passed the bathroom—he had to give it to House: the man created a mighty splash. He was also an idiot and a jerk. But Wilson was smiling as he entered the kitchen. He hadn't had this much fun in years.


	17. Pre Game

Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

So…sex scenes are hard to write without too much repetition; after two or three, it gets kinda difficult. So this chapter is still going where the chapters before were going but it doesn't get there yet either. Sorry!

And just to reiterate, this fic is rated **Mature** for a very good reason. It contains sexual content and contact between two men. If sexual content or sexual contact between two men bothers you, please avoid this fic.

A timeline reminder too: this takes place directly after House and Cameron's date in season 1's episode Love Hurts. I recommend going back to chapter 16 beforeyou start reading this one to remind yourself where the story is. Sorry! I didn't expect a delay of months to separate these two chaps.

* * *

**Chapter 17: Pre-Game**

"You look ten years younger," Wilson said when he returned to the bathroom. Now House was the one who looked like a wet cat. A really sexy wet cat.

"What are you doing in my clothes?" House asked stupidly as Wilson seated himself.

"Staying dry," Wilson answered. The steak was on the fire, the potatoes were in the oven, and it was his turn to have a treat. Float blobs of shaving cream were blocking his view, though.

House narrowed his eyes, displeased that Wilson had found a loophole in the splashing contract. He glanced at the shaving cream and back to Wilson. "You owe me one baby-smooth scrotum."

Wilson made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snort. "With the razor you use on your face?" he said incredulously.

House rolled his eyes. "Yes, with the razor I use on my face," he repeated sarcastically. "You didn't see the package of cheap Bics when you were looking for this?" He nodded to the hand mirror.

Wilson raised an eyebrow. He was about to ask why House would have cheap razors under his sink where he would have trouble accessing them when he remembered something from eight or nine years ago: he'd met House for lunch as usual and had finally said something after House spent ten minutes scratching himself. Stacy had finally bugged him enough about shaving that he'd done it. In fact, now that he thought about, he recalled other instances of Stacy-related crotch scratching, which House would dismiss with a comment about her being domineering over his pubic hair. And House being House, he'd kept the package of razors. Or he'd bought a new package. Something. He was suddenly very happy that he hadn't said anything.

But his reflective spell hadn't gone unnoticed by House. "What?" House said. "Mourning already?"

Wilson snapped out of his reverie, recovering in time to avoid giving himself away. "Just thinking about how I'll be up all night scratching," he said.

House rubbed his smooth face. "You'll be totally alone," he said snidely. "This won't itch at all."

Wilson rolled his eyes and settled back, a hand dipping idly into the underwear he'd borrowed from House. He would have to go by his and Julie's house soon to collect clothing. He didn't look forward to discussing this with her. She would go right to the question he'd been avoiding asking himself for the past few days: so, are you gay? He didn't think he was. He just happened to like fucking House. But that certainly made him bi-sexual…or something. Again, he pushed the thought away. Yes, he'd dreamt about House before this happened. Yes, he'd fantasized about House while he jerked off. Yes, he'd initiated this thing. But he also dreamt about women, jerked off to women, and initiated affairs with women. He was committed to this relationship, but he also didn't have any doubts about whether he would fuck a woman again in his lifetime. Whether House would be okay with it and when it would happen were two completely different questions, but he didn't even entertain the notion that he was off women for good.

House observed Wilson from the bathtub, wishing Wilson hadn't picked the Blue Oyster Cult shirt he loved so much. Wilson was being entirely too introspective: he needed a good splashing.

"So…you _don't_ want me to blow you in the near future?" he asked sarcastically. "I'm hurt."

Wilson snapped out of it again and glanced at House. Oh. House had been watching. He wanted to know what was up. "Just wondering how Julie will react," he said.

House sniffed. "I'm spread out naked in front of you and you're thinking about her?" he said with affront.

"Wondering if she'll think I'm gay," Wilson said. He pulled his hand out of the boxer briefs: this wasn't going anywhere. He had to tend to dinner anyway.

"Oh _darling_," House lisped in a cracked falsetto, primping imaginary hair with one hand and turning the other limply in Wilson's direction, "we'll practice the look and the style and she'll _know_ you're fabulous."

Wilson shook his head at House, smiling: _you're incorrigible_.

"I'm going to go check on the steak," he said, getting to his feet.

"You're such a _man_, Jimmy," House continued. "I'm so hot for you right now."

Wilson snorted a laugh and closed the door behind him. House was certainly comfortable with his sexuality—or comfortable mocking Wilson's concerns, either one. Wilson wondered as he turned the steak over whether House had ever fantasized about him, or if he was just going with this. He got the impression that House was serious. The back rub yesterday, paying for lunch, apologizing today—those weren't things House did. It wouldn't make sense for him to do them if this was all a whim. But Wilson wasn't used to being the one who was open about his feelings in a relationship. It made him uncomfortable, despite the fact that he genuinely wanted House to know how he felt. He wasn't naïve enough to think House would suddenly start spouting sonnets, but it would be nice to hear him say the words. He knew it would be a cold day in hell before that happened, but a guy could dream.

He checked on the potatoes and had just opened a pre-packaged salad when House called him again.

"I'm pruning. Get your ass in here."

Wilson sighed and shook his head. House was utterly incorrigible. Then again, if he didn't get in there before House's extremely limited patience ran out and he slipped trying to get himself out of the tub.

"Coming."

"In there? By yourself? Shame."

Wilson smiled, shaking his head again as he padded toward the bathroom.

* * *

"Mmmnnnffn," House said through a mouthful of steak, "you gotta do this every day."

Wilson grunted. "Iffs not polite to talk wiff you mouff full."

House nudged him and grinned. "So," he swallowed, "tell me this. A guy who can cook and you can't stay married? Am I going to find out about some horrible gas problem or a killing spree you've been covering up for years?"

Wilson shrugged noncommittally and forked potato into his mouth. "You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

House raised his eyebrows. "Ooo, secrecy, I like it."

"Man of myfftery."

"That's very attractive."

"Daff's right."

House nudged him again and dug into the steak on his plate again. He made another deeply satisfied noise.

"Glad you like it so much," Wilson said. "You're doing the dishes."

"We'll see about that," House muttered into his beer bottle.

Wilson glared at him but let the remark go. With his culinary skills and House's love of eating food that didn't belong to him, Wilson knew he'd see a scrub brush in House's hand before the weekend was over.

They chewed in silence, 'ohhh'ing and 'nooo'ing at the basketball game on the television, slurping their beers. The post-dinner hangover passed in silence too, but with fewer expressions about the game. Slumped on the couch, legs on the table, hands resting on stomachs and groins, they both realized that this was becoming a pattern. Happy, sleepy, and full, they each concluded that it was a pattern they could easily live with.

House was the first to break the post-food coma.

"So…you made me take a bath, but you didn't stick around to enjoy it," he said. "Am I stinky?" He caught himself and added, "Er, stinkier than usual?"

"You really think food magically appears?" Wilson asked.

"Sure it does," House said. "You call the Food Stork and he brings it to your door and if he's quick about it, you tip him."

Wilson quirked an eyebrow. "Food like this?"

Annoyed that Wilson had caught him, House changed the subject. "So I am stinky." He pretended to be offended, turning his head, nose in the air, hands going to his hips. "Well. I'm not putting out anymore!"

Wilson just rolled his eyes. His thoughts had turned to the impending sexual contact between them and he was getting nervous. Aroused, definitely, but also apprehensive. He needed some time alone to think and he was searching for some way of making that happen when suddenly he had it. Just in time, too, because House was beginning to make eyes at him.

"I'm, ah, going to go to the bathroom," he said, wishing he didn't sound scared.

House scrutinized him, trying to detect who knew what.

Realizing he didn't need House's permission, Wilson got to his feet.

"Light a match!" he heard House call.

He smirked despite himself.

* * *

Ten minutes later, the smirk was long gone and Wilson was sitting on the toilet in the Thinker position, seriously considering what was about to happen.

He wanted House to fuck him, but if House could fuck him without the whole dick in the ass thing, that would be preferable. He certainly didn't mind a finger or two up there—that felt great—but House's dick was entirely too big. He remembered all the resistance he'd encountered last night, the way House had stiffened. Even with his high threshold of pain, House had admitted it hurt. Then again, after the first part was over, House had been on another planet. It was even better for him today at lunch. Wilson knew that a genuinely pleased sex partner would fall asleep as soon as they were done. House had been snoring before they'd hit the ground today. And House who'd insisted they keep this a secret and had promised he'd be quiet was even louder today than he was last night. Of course his secretary had found out. The whole fourth floor probably heard them. Maybe House was always that loud during sex. He didn't know. But House had been quiet when they'd jerked off in the clinic and he'd been quiet a few nights ago when Wilson had blown him. He was capable of being quiet. He had been in control then. But when he'd fucked him, House had lost control completely. Hence all the noises: he couldn't stop himself. Yes. That made sense. And if House who always appeared so impulsive but was really always in control, directing and manipulating, could lose that control… And then there were those dreams Wilson had where House was fucking him.

He closed his eyes, hand going to his dick. Why not squeeze out the easy one right now? If he was going to lose all control later—and he was, the rush of blood to his dick when he thought about those dreams had decided it for him: this was going to happen—why not make it the hard-to-get second one? It would relax him. All of his orgasms had been with House for the past two days. It would be nice to have a private one that was just for him.

He got up, wiped himself, and found the magazine he'd used a few nights ago when House was out with Cameron. He flipped around, trying to find a good page that wasn't already stuck together. House needed some new bathroom reading. Wilson turned to the page he'd used last time, but…oops. It too was stuck to another page. He'd forgotten about that. Part of the fun was coming on the model's face or breasts—that was why smut magazines thrived: inevitably all the good pages got stuck together and you were forced to buy a new one. He added buying a new magazine for the bathroom to his list of things to do, found a decent page, and decided to start with his right hand today.

She wasn't half bad, but the Catholic school uniform didn't do it for him. (Didn't do it for House either he noted or this page would be inaccessible.) She was just about to burst through her top and he pictured slipping a hand under the fabric to cup and squeeze. She giggled. He bent down to replace his hand with his mouth and—yeah, he was good now. He banished himself and added a tanned brunette to compliment the blonde school girl, watching as the brunette took his place sucking the blonde's tit. This was standard fair for him, one of his favorites and a standby that almost always worked when something new he was trying failed, and it was working like it always did now. He switched hands as the girls started making out, right hand cupping his balls, gently rubbing. He was breathing fast now—the blonde was eating the brunette and he liked that—and he was getting there at his usual bathroom jerk off pace. The brunette flipped the blonde and started humping her with abandon and then—yes, it was his turn, he was fucking the blonde. His left hand was flying and he was there, he was there, yes, yes, _yes_.

He exhaled, finished, and closed his eyes, letting the magazine fall shut and hit the floor before his spunk could run down the page and begin dripping. This was exactly what he'd needed. Sex was great, having his dick sucked was great, but sometimes masturbating by himself was what he needed. He was relaxed now and in another moment or two, he'd be ready to be fucked. It would be so much better now that the first easy one was out of the way. Now he could concentrate and last longer. He smiled, blinking languidly through endorphin-laden eyelids and rubbed the soft skin of his inner thigh where it met his pubic hair.

He was cleaned out and relaxed.

Ready.


End file.
